The Viking's Woman
by LifeInkognito
Summary: When her Irish Kingdom is attacked, Isabella is left with no choice but to marry the barbaric Viking Chieftain in order to protect her people. Age of Edward 2012 EXPANDED.
1. Part 1

**Age of Edward Contest**

Your pen name: LifeInkognito

Title: The Viking's Woman

Type of Edward: Viking Edward

Summary: When the Irish Kingdom of her father is attacked, Isabella is left with no choice but to marry the barbaric Viking Chieftain in order to protect her people.

**If you would like to see all the stories that are a part of this contest visit ****The Age of Edward 2012 C2 Community.**

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><p><strong>The Viking's Woman<strong>

The watchman enters the Great Hall through the west wing, clad in his armor, his sword sheathed at his side. "He brings warriors!" he yells. "Thirty men on horseback; all armed, my Lord."

My father's face remains expressionless, but I can feel his hand grow hot against my shoulder, his fingers digging sharply into my skin. "Stand down," he announces. "Let them pass through the gates."

"My Lord, they mean to attack!"

I flinch at the man's panicked tone. War has destroyed my home. When the Viking warriors invaded the shores of Ireland, they offered our people no mercy. Now our land is plagued with death and destruction. Our kingdom has been turned to ruins. If the Viking Chieftain means to resume the battle, there is no hope. We've neither the troops nor the weapons left to hold them off any longer.

"Let them pass," my father repeats harshly. "Do not question me."

"Yes, Milord." The watchman bows meekly and leaves the room to give the appropriate orders.

As King, my father did what he must to protect our people. A truce with the Viking Chieftain did not come easily. There was nothing the barbarian could want from us that he could not take by force. But there was one thing he was willing to accept. It was the only way to save us, the only one way to protect the lives of our people….

Me.

Our union will create a treaty of peace, if the Chieftain chooses to accept me. The kingdom will be his by inheritance rather than by force. Our people will be safe.

If he does not accept me, I do not expect I will live much longer.

Suddenly, a commotion begins behind the large wooden doors that protect the Great Hall. I can hear the sounds of hoof steps, and the shouts of guards as they struggle for order. The Chieftain has come.

"Father…" The word escapes me without my consent, a desperate plea for what I know I can't have.

But the sound of my voice is drowned away by the groaning of the heavy wooden doors as they're pushed open. Light pours into the large room, illuminating the figures standing in the archway.

It's as the watchman said. Thirty or so men, all armed with axes, swords, or bows, have come to the castle. And leading them is a man so frightening that the sight of him makes me inhale sharply. I turn my face away quickly, clenching my fingers into fists at my sides.

He's brought his stallion into the palace. It's a magnificent creature, pure black and menacingly large. As he rides forward, the horse's feet clop loudly against the stone floor. My father grunts, appalled at this horrendous lack of respect, but doesn't speak. We both keep silent as the Chieftain approaches, his large shadow encroaching upon us.

"It is an honor," my father greets nobly, playing the part of a welcoming King, despite our circumstances.

"I've no wish for pleasantries," speaks the Viking. His voice is strong, his Norse accent thick and strange. It sends shivers up my spine. "The girl."

My father's hand slips away from my shoulder. He clears his throat. "I present to you, my Isabella."

I look up, and a numbing horror washes over me. The Chieftain is large and well muscled, his skin tanned from years of labor beneath the sun and littered with a thousand scars. He wears a crudely sewn tunic, heavy boots, a mantle of thick animal skins, and a long sword sheathed at his waist. His jaw is sharp, his brows thick and narrowed, his hair an odd reddish color. And his eyes… they're as green as the woodlands and as piercing as a dagger. I'm trapped under his hard, callous stare, helpless to look away. My pulse quickens, my heart pounding almost painfully in my chest.

"Isabella," my father hisses, but I don't turn to look at him. I've stopped breathing; it's as if the Viking's gaze has turned me to ice.

The Chieftain turns down his lips, displeased with me. It breaks me out of my daze. I breathe in sharply, not having realized the lack of air was making me lightheaded.

"Isabella," my father says again, his impatience growing. "Go forth."

My legs move forward on their own accord. I slowly move one foot in front of the other, drifting across the room to close the space between the Chieftain and I. His eyes remain on mine, stony and unfathomable. With every step, I can feel my breaths growing shorter, my throat turning dry.

I'm almost directly in front of his horse when he moves. My steps falter and I shrink back, watching as he lithely dismounts his horse and steps foot on the ground. He's so tall, so frighteningly huge. His large hands could squeeze the life from me without any effort at all. And that could very well be what he plans to do.

"There is not a more beautiful woman in the land," says my father. "I tear out a piece of my heart to offer her to you."

The Chieftain reaches forward and, ignoring the startled gasp that escapes my lips, takes my arm in his calloused hand, holding up my wrist for inspection. He's appraising me like an animal for sale! I wait for my father to interject and save me from this humiliation, but he stays back, letting the Viking continue.

Seemingly satisfied with the state of my fingers, the Chieftain drops my hand, only to grab a lock of dark hair off of my shoulder. I force myself not to flinch away from him as he lifts it to his nose and inhales deeply. Still sniffing, his nose follows the length of the strand, his face bending closer to mine, until he's touching the side of my neck. He exhales slowly, the warmth of his breath washing over my skin. Humiliated, I close my eyes, willing my heart to slow its frantic pace. I will not cry, not before the barbarian that slayed my men and destroyed my world.

At last, I feel the Chieftain take a step back, but I do not open my eyes again. I cannot bear to look at him.

"I will take her as my wife," he says, speaking to my father.

My eyes snap open. The Viking's mouth is a hard line, his gaze as hard as iron. I realize with a searing dread that this cruel man has sealed my fate. He is to be my husband. My life will be his to take. I know nothing of what will become of me.

"Come," he says, looking into my eyes.

Engulfed with terror, I take another step back.

"Isabella!" my father interjects angrily. "You will obey the Chieftain."

Adrenaline is coursing through my veins, and suddenly I feel bold. This man has done unspeakable things. He's fought in battles, destroyed villages, taken the lives of innocents. He wishes for me to fear him, but I won't give him the satisfaction. He cannot own me. "I'm not a horse you can summon whenever you please," I whisper fervently.

The Chieftain gives me a chilling smile. "My horse is mine, as are you. And you, too, will learn to come when I call."

My face pales at his heartless words. "You—"

"Cease!" he orders sharply. "Think on your words carefully. Do you wish to see more Irish blood spilled upon this ground?"

Like the cold breath of a grave, his words seem to cut through my very soul. I lower my head, ashamed of my selfishness.

"Come," he commands again, holding out his arm.

Blinking back tears, I move forward. The Chieftain reaches out and takes my hand, enveloping my fingers within the massive size and strength of his hold. Yet, although his grip is firm, I can feel his calloused thumb rubbing slowly over my knuckles.

"We wed tonight."

"Tonight?" my father interjects. "It is not enough time for an adequate—"

"Is it not?" the Chieftain interrupts. "I have seen the beauty of my betrothed, and I will make her my wife before this night is over."

The Viking's grip on my fingers tightens. I look up and meet the gaze of his intense, green eyes.

"Until tonight, my Lady," he says quietly, lifting my hand as if to kiss it. But taking notice of the way I cringe away from his touch, he suddenly changes his mind and releases me completely.

"We will wed in the church," he calls out, "where your God always abides."

"Very well," my father replies suppliantly.

And with that, he turns, lifting his foot onto the stirrups of his saddle and throwing himself back onto his horse. I watch as he pulls the reins and turns the stallion in a quick circle.

"Our attacks will cease," the Chieftain announces to my father, whose face is pale and frightened. "Bury your dead." Then he turns to his warriors, who until now have stayed motionless. "_Ver reid_!" he bellows.

"_Ja_!"

The Chieftain's stallion soars out the doors of the great hall, his warriors close behind him.

All I can do is stand still and stare after them, gasping for breath.

…

I am bathed and dressed carefully. My gown is crafted from thin, billowing blue fabric, and a jewel entrusted diadem rests atop my loose hair. I'm meant to look the part of a valuable gift for the Chieftain when he sets his eyes on me tonight.

A servant brought me wine to soothe my nerves, but I greatly suspect something stronger has been added to it. I'm glad for it; my trembling has ceased, and although my mind is full of dread, my body is serene.

Do I have a choice? I can walk down the church aisle and refuse to say the words. I can reject him… but what good will it do? I won't let the blood of my kinsmen be on my hands.

No… I'll give myself to this man, if it will save the lives of my people. I must.

When the sun begins to set, a servant takes me by the hand and leads me out of my chambers. I do not protest as we travel through the castle halls, and then across the yard to the church. I feel as if I am in a dream, floating in my own mind.

And then we're in the church. It's a small, stone building, cold and dimly lit. Torches burning on the wall illuminate the faces of our few guests. My father will not look at me; he stands off to the side, his face turned to the side uncaringly. And the Chieftain… my husband-to-be… waits at the altar, his expression stiff and grave. At the sight of me, his eyes darken.

I think I must be drunk from the wine. My head spins, my hands shake, and I cannot look away from the man who is to be my husband.

He stands taller than any other man in the room, his body strong and powerful, built to excel in conquest. He holds himself proudly, well aware of his advantage. And his eyes are searing, hypnotizing…

Black spots dance across my vision.

The priest is speaking. My father's hand takes one of mine, but they feel like dust against my skin. He hands me over to the Viking, and I gasp, shocked by the fiery heat of his body. Sweat gathers above my brow. The room is growing hotter…

The priest speaks of honor, obedience, and trust. With a Viking? Impossible. But I press my lips together in silence.

The room grows hotter still, and I feel as if I've been set on fire. I want to scream out, but I can't. I'm trapped, the Chieftain's hands still holding mine, and I cannot move.

"Before God, I declare you man and wife."

My husband takes my hands and lifts them to his mouth. Where his lips touch me, I burn.

In a daze, I step forward, letting him grab hold of my arms. I can only see him; the world has faded away. My heart pounds with fear, yet a flame is burning within me, and I've never felt so alive.

"You smell of mead," he grumbles. "Are you drunk?"

I shake my head quickly, but he does not seem convinced.

My husband turns to our guests, his grip tightening around my arm. "My wife and I will retire," he announces.

"Wait," I interject. "This is not proper. It is Irish custom that—"

"You are a Viking's woman now. We have customs of our own. Now come," he murmurs, his eyes hard and penetrating, daring me to defy him.

I stumble behind him as we leave the church, coming into the cold night air. The moon is high above us, its muted light casting eerie shadows against the Chieftain's face.

My husband turns towards the woodlands and whistles a single, high-pitched note. The bushes rustle, and then his black horse prances towards us. He's left the creature to wait for him in the forest this entire time.

He holds his hand out to assist me, and reluctantly I step into his arms. In an instant, he lifts me up and throws me onto the saddle of his horse. The movement is so sudden that I nearly lose my balance and fall, but then he's sitting behind me, his large arms holding me steady.

The air begins to whistle in my ears as the stallion moves beneath us, galloping through the night. The guards hastily throw open the doors and gates as we fly past them and past the castle walls. We soar through the meadows and fields and woodlands that lay beyond the palace wall, and I hold onto the saddle as tightly as I can, praying I won't fall.

My husband's breaths are slow and steady. His hand is still resting against my waist to hold me in place. I can feel the entire length of his body, the bold strength of his legs, the brute power of his arms.

The knowledge of what is to come sobers me. I've heard the whispers of servants, and I am not a stranger to the knowledge of what happens in a bridal bed. But it pains me to think of this Viking, this barbarian, seeing me bare, touching me so intimately… My stomach lurches.

The Chieftain has no desire to speak with me. We ride in silence, for what feels like an eternity. I've never stayed atop a horse for so long at once, and my legs are sore from the effort of keeping myself steady.

At last, we cannot ride any longer. We've reached the high cliffs that overlook the bay. The water is glinting like silver in the night under the light of the moon. And all along the land, there are crude little dwellings made from bark, stones, and long grasses. The Vikings have set up camp here.

Warriors begin to file out of their homes, shouting out with pride as they welcome their leader back. They're all massive, dressed in furs and leather, swords sheathed at their waists. Behind me, my husband raises his hand high in greeting.

"_Kvedja!_" he calls out, and then continues to speak in Norse. I know nothing of the language. His voice is strong and fervent, his lips curling around the foreign words forcefully. I do not understand a word, yet I can feel power behind them.

"_Ja_!" shout the warriors, responding enthusiastically to whatever he's told them.

My husband bends his head towards me, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. "My men congratulate our union."

After lowering me from his horse, he leads me through the little makeshift village, his grip on my arm firm and unyielding. And when we arrive at the last of the lodgings, the largest of them, I know it is his.

"Come, _kona_," he whispers, leading me into the hut.

I've known this moment would come; I should be resigned to the fact. But now, the reality of what is to happen is suddenly unbearable. Terror washes over me, my heart pounding violently in my chest.

He can kill me. He very well may.

The inside of the hut is a small space, cold and dark. The dirt floor has been covered with thick animal furs for cushioning. My husband presses gently on my shoulders, guiding me to sit amongst them. They're soft and warm against my skin, yet I shiver despite myself.

"The Gods have crafted you finely for me," he whispers, reaching a hand out towards my face. His hands touch me carefully, his calloused fingers traveling slowly from just below my ear to the beginning of my collar. His breaths grow quicker, hot as they wash over my neck, and I know what he wants.

I close my eyes and turn my face away.

Ignoring how I stiffen beneath his touch, his fingers move to the collar of my dress, slipping under the fabric and pulling it down my shoulders. The flowing fabric threatens to slide down completely, but I press my arms tightly against my chest to keep it there. No man has ever seen me so exposed. And to think of this Viking, this warrior, gazing upon me when I am most vulnerable… Tears begin to gather behind my eyes.

"No," he commands firmly, displeased with my modesty. His hands quickly take hold of my wrists and pry them away from my body.

"Please," I whisper, and the first tear falls over my cheek. "Please, don't."

His grip on my wrists loosens, and he leans back. For a moment I think he's going to let go of me completely, but then his hand moves to cradle my waist, easing me backwards into the furs. All I can do is tremble beneath him, my eyes riveted to his.

"_Vif_," he grunts, his expression growing hard, "you are my wife. By Odin, you _will_ be my wife tonight. Do you understand?"

I lower my chin.

He sits back, his hands quickly unbuckling his belt with its sword scabbard. It falls heedlessly to the floor. Then he tugs on his tunic, pulling the fabric over his head. Without pause, he continues to disrobe himself until he is completely bare before me.

His body is all rippling muscles. Reddish hair covers his tanned chest, slimming and narrowing at his waist, leading to the powerful shaft of his sex. Startled, I try to keep my eyes on his, but curiosity gets the better of me, and they slip back to his manhood. Like him, it is strange and large and frightening, and I fear the pain our union will bring me.

But there's a strange and savage beauty about his nudity. He's lithe, almost animal-like in his movements as he leans towards me, crawling over my body, moving to position himself astride me, ready to satisfy his most primal urges.

"No," I cry again, struggling under his weight.

Ignoring my pleas, his hand takes hold of my dress, pulling it up and over my head. Beneath the fabric I wear nothing. The air is cold and I shiver, quickly moving my arms to cover my nakedness. I can feel his eyes on my exposed breasts.

And then he lays his hands on my waist, yanking me towards him roughly, flipping me over so that I lay on my stomach. His hands reach greedily for my thighs, ready to spread them apart and take me like an animal.

"No!" Acting on instinct alone, I resist his strength. His grip is loose enough so that I am able to flip myself back over. I raise a hand and plant it against his chest, holding him back.

Beneath my palm, I feel a heart beat. It's alive, so unlike the way I've imagined Viking hearts—animalistic and dirty and cold. Perhaps there is still hope. Perhaps he's not a monster.

It doesn't have to be this way. I don't need to fear him. If I can prove that I am not afraid… that I am_ willing_ to give myself to him, then I might have a chance to save myself from the pain. I know what this man is capable of. I've seen what he's done to my kingdom. And I do not want to be a victim of his brutal wrath. I married him willingly, and I _will_ lie with him willingly as well. I will put my contempt for him and his deeds aside. I will sacrifice and give myself to him freely for the safety of my people.

Oblivious to my thoughts, my husband grows impatient with me. Savagely, he rolls me over again, his muscles holding me down against the furs, urging me to stay in place.

My whole life, I've done as I was told. Everyone takes what they want from me. My father took my freedom, and my husband wishes to take me for his pleasure alone. But I do not want to let myself be defeated any longer, and I need him to understand.

"_No!_" I shout, this time with conviction. And then I begin to fight. I'm no match for his strength, but my vigor takes him by surprise. I kick my legs and twist in his grip, managing to beat my fist against his chest a few times. He swats my hand away as if it is a pestering fly.

"Enough," he commands, grabbing my hips and turning me over so that he can see my face. I throw my hand towards his cheek to slap him, but he captures it and holds it still, his long, tanned fingers tightening around my wrist. His eyes, black in the dim lighting, stare into mine with an intensity that makes me go completely still. But I do not waver.

"You _will _be my wife," he repeats, his temper flaring.

I take in a deep breath and gather my courage. "Yes. I will."

My answer startles him. He exhales sharply through his nose, his brows furrowing as if he suspects me of deception. In his bewildered state, his grip on my wrist loosens. I take advantage of it and try to move my hand closer to his face.

Just as my fingers make contact with his cheek, he grunts with surprise, pulling my hand back. I expect his expression to be one of fury, but it is not. Slowly, I can see that his resolve is beginning to waver.

Seeing his confusion, I grow bolder. I must prove to him that I will give him what he desires without force. I tell him softly, "I _will_ be your _wife_." Not his slave, or his captive. I will be his equal.

My husband does not know what to make of me. I stay still beneath him, gazing upon his face, silently pleading with him to listen to me.

Slowly, he releases my wrist again. His eyes remain on mine, and I can see how wary he is. But he is not stopping me.

I move my hand to lightly brush his cheek. The skin is rough but warm beneath my fingers. My husband closes his eyes.

Gauging his reactions, I press my palm closer, cradling his jaw. A deep hum of pleasure rumbles inside of him, and his hand moves to cover my own, trapping it against his face. He tilts his chin, bending his head so that my hand is spread across his entire cheek, and suddenly my husband is vulnerable. Hope blossoms within me. For the first time in my life, I feel... _power._

"Cease!"

I flinch away from his unexpected command. My husband grabs my wrist again, pulling my hand away from his face and pinning it to the ground. His breathing is heavy and ragged, his expression hard and unyielding once more. "No more of this," he commands.

I was wrong. He _is_ a savage.

I can feel his sex pressed against my thigh, feel it's heat and savage pulse. It makes me remember to fear him. I raise my hands and try to push him off of me, but his strength is superior. He easily captures both my wrists in one of his hands and stills them beneath his weight. I cannot move.

He raises his other hand, and I turn my face away, waiting for the sting of his slap. But it does not come. I hold my breath as he moves a finger softly down the valley between my breasts. Then slowly, he begins to caress the swells of the mounds. His touch is gentle, almost kind, and like nothing else I've ever experienced before. Still overcome with fear, I'm unsure what to think of the new sensation. Then his thumb grazes over my nipple, stroking and kneading until it becomes a taut peak beneath his touch. I toss my head backwards and clamp my mouth shut so that I do not cry out at the sudden, embarrassing wave of pleasure that runs through me.

"When we come together," he whispers as he leans down, brushing his lips against my ear, "you will be mine, and I will be yours, and we will be one."

His voice penetrates something deep inside of me. Desperately, I pray that my expression does not betray me, that it shows scorn, rather than confusion. I can feel his eyes upon me, awaiting my every reaction.

And then his fingers wind in my hair, and his lips mold against mine. I think to struggle, to press my palms against his chest, but I cannot. I am overpowered. His tongue runs over my lips, forcing them to part, thrusting hot and deeply into my mouth, and I am consumed.

All I can smell is him—fresh like pinewood and undeniably male. His kiss is too powerful, a slow, sure, complete seduction of my mouth, tasting and delving and demanding with such startling insinuation that I can barely form a coherent thought. I'm caught in the shocking intimacy of it all, so overwhelming that I feel as if I may lose consciousness.

He releases me suddenly, and I fall back into the furs, silent and stunned. Carefully, I lift a trembling finger to my lips. They're warm and swollen.

He does not give me much time to collect myself. He leans down, letting his mouth travel a slow, demanding trail from my earlobe to my jaw, and I can feel the moisture of his breath there. Lower still, he trails kisses over my throat, flickering his tongue across my flesh, biting gently at my collarbone.

"_Oh!_" I cry out as his mouth closes over my nipple, his tongue circling the rosy bud. I writhe beneath him, my head thrown back against the furs. Heat is building deep within me, coiling and simmering in my heart and loins. I can feel my hands quivering, but no longer from fear.

I want to look upon his eyes. Desperately, I reach a hand out, pressing my fingers against his jaw, urging him to look at me. At my touch, he stills, letting me lift his face as he crawls over me, covering my body with his. His eyes watch mine, searching my expression, and I nod, hoping that he understands. I will give myself freely, but not because I am overpowered by his strength. I am choosing him.

"I will be yours, and you will be mine, and we will be one," I murmur, repeating his words. And then I lift my face from the furs and cover his lips with mine. I feel him jolt with surprise, but he does not push me away. Instead, he begins to kiss me back.

The warmth seeps deeper within me… deeper, deeper still. His lips taste mine, gentle at first, then firmer. He ravishes my mouth, and his hips start to rub in a slow rhythm against mine. And like an instinct buried within me, I begin to follow his movements.

He groans with pleasure, and I can feel his manhood throbbing intimately against me. The slow, pulsing tremors building inside of me are almost unbearable.

His hand moves lower, grazing my belly, and then my hips. I realize what he intends to do only a moment before he does it. His fingers brush against my most intimate place, cupping my heat, covering the mound between my thighs.

Desire. Desire storms my senses, sears my skin, sweeps violently through me, pervading my every nerve.

His finger enters me swiftly. Throwing my head back, I have no choice but to ride out the startling, savage sensation that invades me. Intimate, gentle, light, his finger caresses my tender skin. And then he thrusts into me deeper, increasing his speed, finding the places that make my back arch upward. His finger curls inside of me, and my vision suddenly blurs. I feel as if I'm falling, or drowning, or dying of pleasure...

"_Fagr_," he murmurs. "_Minn fjor."_

He spreads my legs wide, settling himself between them. And then I feel the heat of his sex press down, moving into me at last.

Pain flashes through me, swift and startling. I part my lips to scream, but my husband smothers the sound with a kiss. He holds me against him, waiting for my body to become accustomed to his.

I can hear him whispering in my ear, but I can't distinguish the words. My mind is clouded, unable to retain a coherent thought. Gingerly, he lifts himself, pulling his body away, only to slide back into me again. Pain courses through me once more, but it is not as harsh now.

Slowly, the discomfort ebbs, and I can feel the depth, the warmth, the velvet of his manhood, and the slow, sure rhythm of his thrusts. Fire sparks inside of me, flames lapping at my skin, heating my blood. They grow within me with every stroke of his body. Drumbeats are pounding in my head, and my hands move to his shoulders, holding onto his corded muscles. The earth pitches and rocks and whirls madly, and still I can feel the smooth slide of his body claiming mine again and again.

And then his lips brush the shell of my ear, and I hear him mutter my name. "_Kona_… Isabella..."

I shatter, my body arching upward towards him as my blood turns to liquid honey in my veins and my head is filled with a terrible, wonderful fog. Sunlight bursts open upon me, and then fades into darkness, leaving me against the furs, weak and gasping for breath, thinking that perhaps I've died… Vaguely, I notice my husband throw back his head, the muscles in his neck tense. And then he releases his seed inside of me, pulsing into my sex and crying out wordlessly.

We're left lying together in a tangled heap, our bodies damp with perspiration and joined at the hips. Still clouded with the remnants of the pleasure that swept through me, I let his lips meet mine. His muscular arms hold me close, yet he is exceedingly gentle.

"_Kona_," he whispers again. "Wife."

"Husband," I murmur back, still trying to catch my breath.

"Eidard," he says, bending his face close to mine. His lips are just a breath away, and suddenly I feel warm again.

"Eidard?" I repeat, not understanding the word.

He takes my hand in his, pressing it against his chest. Beneath his tanned skin, I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Eidard," he says again. "You will call me Eidard."

My heart swells and a wave of pleasure runs through me at his words. I nod my head, stroking my fingers across the skin over his heart. "Eidard."

His lips curl upward slightly. "Isabella. Wife."

In this instant, I know that this man, this Viking, so large and frighteningly powerful, will not hurt me. His gaze and the tenderness in his touch have shown me a sweet-tempered side to him that I never thought possible. My instincts scream at me to hate him. Hate him for what he has done to my people. Hate him for the lives he has taken. And most of all, hate him for taking away my freedom. But I know deep in my heart that I will never be able to hate him again. Not since I've felt his touch. The things he has done to me… _no_, what he has drawn from me. I'd scarcely known such sensations could exist.

His hand reaches out and gingerly moves across my cheek, smoothing my hair away from my face. My eyes dart to his, and I can see the awe in his expression, the reverence.

"You are mine, and I am yours," he whispers, and the now familiar words send a shiver through my body.

His hand moves to my chin, lifting my head so that we are eye to eye. I expect him to kiss me again, but he does not. He stares at me, searching deeply for something in my expression.

At length, he speaks. "_Freyja_ resides in you, _kona_. Beauty and love. You are made for me."

His words make my throat go dry. I've given him my body, but I do not think I will ever be capable of giving him my heart. Perhaps one day I will grow to care for him… but _love_… it is too much to ask for.

He sees my uncertainty. "You will learn to see," he tells me confidently, stroking his thumb over my bottom lip. "Your love will be mine. I will win it."

I smile at his confidence, and beneath my palm his heart beats faster.

And I know. I understand.

I am not Isabella, the unfortunate, helpless princess. I am strong. I am the wife of a great Chieftain. I am a Viking's woman.

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><p>I hope you've enjoyed the story. Let me know what you think.<p>

This story is dedicated to the most awesome beta in the world, ExquisiteEdward, who deals with all of my insanity. She slaved over this one-shot with me the day before I posted it. Honestly, I don't know why she even deals with me. But I'm incredibly thankful that she does!

Voting is now open for the Age of Edward contest (until Feb 22), so check out the cool stories and then go to **ageofedward (dot) com** to vote for your favorites!

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**And to all that asked, yes, after the contest, I will expand upon the one-shot, so keep the story on alert if you're interested.

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><p>Translations (According to Ross G. Arthur's English To Old Norse Dictionary):<p>

_Ver reid!_: We ride!

_Ja_: Yeah, Yes

_Kvedja!: _Greetings!

_Kona_: Wife

_Vif_: Woman

Odin: King of the Norse Gods

_Fagr_: Beauty

_Minn fjor_: My life

Freyja: The Godess of beauty, love, passion, guardian of women


	2. Part 2

Thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed, and voted for The Viking's Woman in the Age of Edward contest! You guys are amazing. And because so many of you asked for it, I've decided to expand the one-shot into a fuller story. I hope you'll all enjoy what I've thought up for Eidard and Isabella.

Thank you so much to my fabulous Beta, **ExquisiteEdward**. As ever, she went above and beyond with this chapter. You're amazing!

Thank you also to **Tkegl**, who graciously read through this chapter for me and offered me some much needed encouragement.

Enjoy! ~Inky

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><p><strong>The Viking's Woman<strong>

Part 2

My husband sleeps peacefully. His nudity is impossible to ignore; his hips and loins are flush against my thighs, and I can feel his every subtle shift and movement. His manhood, pressed against my tender flesh, is pulsing, vibrant, still so alive…

I try to close my eyes and drift, but I cannot. There is a dull soreness between my thighs that is impossible to ignore. I long to call a handmaiden and request a cool bath, but I know I will have handmaidens no longer. Perhaps I will not bathe any longer as well; Viking's aren't the most groomed of creatures. I know nothing of their customs. I am a Chieftain's wife, and I know nothing of my people…

Does it matter? Eidard did not bargain with my father for me because he was looking for a capable leader. There was only one thing he wished from me, and he's had it already.

And what am I to do now? Am I to wait through the day in this crudely built hut and then lie with him by night? Will he leave me here alone when he travels to other lands? Will he let me stand by his side, or will I be nothing but a body to warm his bed?

As his wife, I must make Eidard happy. I mustn't give him any reason to turn back on his word and wreak havoc on my kingdom. But I won't let him control me. If this is to be my fate, I'll find a way to bear it…

But how can I bear sleeping beside this barbarian for the rest of my life? How much blood is on his hands? How many of my kinsmen has he murdered?

No… I can't think like that any longer. I've seen a gentler side of him I never thought possible. He's not a monster. I must remember that.

I do not want to think of these things any longer. I close my eyes and pray for sleep to take me, but it is worthless. My mind is far too alert. I try to remind myself that I must be well rested, for the morning will bring far greater challenges than any I face now. I will need to be awake and ever aware.

And still sleep eludes me.

…

It feels as if years have passed when morning light finally begins to trickle into the hut, bathing my skin with warmth. Beneath my cheek, my husband's breaths are still slow and steady, and I envy that he can sleep so deeply.

I long to sit up and look around me, but I do not dare risk disturbing Eidard. Cradled in his muscular arms, I am trapped against his chest, my face resting on the bronze expanse of his shoulder. I can feel the pulse of his heart beneath me, strong and constant. I remember how last night he held my hand over his heart as he promised I would learn to love him. Warmth floods across my cheeks.

The sunlight grows brighter as time passes, and I watch as Eidard squints his eyes and wrinkles his nose. His grunts quietly, and then his lashes flutter, and his eyes are staring into mine, wide and mesmerizingly green.

"_Kona_." His hand reaches out and tenderly grasps my chin, pulling my face closer to his. "_Minn vif_."

His lips touch mine. My eyes drift closed, all of the thoughts that plagued my mind suddenly fading into silence. Carefully, he begins to shift, turning so that I am lying amongst the furs once more, and he is hovering above me. His hand moves to the fullness of my breast, and I realize that he intends to take me once again.

My body still aches, but I do my best to ignore it. My husband wishes for me, and I must be willing for him.

It is not like last night. He does not waste time with languid caresses or quiet, whispered words. He simply claims my lips once more, his tongue delving into my mouth, and wedges his body between my thighs. His swiftness takes me by surprise, and I do not have time to prepare myself for his intrusion. My eyes widen in alarm just as the hardness of his sex thrusts into me. A strangled sound escapes me as dull pain courses through my body.

And then he moves within me. Primal and carnal, his passion unleashed, he sweeps me into his great tide. He's every bit the savage, riding me at fever pitch, and when he reaches his climax, I can feel his fervor spilling from him as well as his seed.

When he's finished with me, he keeps our bodies joined together, his lips resting against my neck. His breaths are warm, but they make me shiver. And as time passes, he shifts to lie beside me, his head on my breast, and soon I realize he's fallen asleep again, the heavy weight of his arms pinning me in place.

I am left with confusion. Is this what it is like to lie with my husband? Am I to ever again experience the lustful feelings of last night? Or must I grow more accustomed to this hurried, detached way of coupling? They were so different… I cannot imagine that it could possibly have been the same act.

…

When my husband wakes again, he rises silently to dress himself. I watch as he covers his nudity with a long woolen tunic and trousers, and then his mantle of wolf fur. He saves his sword for last, sheathing it in the scabbard at his waist. Then he turns to me. "_Hitta, Kona. Umskipti_."

I haven't the faintest clue what he wants of me. Will he no longer speak the common tongue? I fear I'll be hopelessly lost if left to decipher his language on my own.

"Pardon, milord?" I question, sitting up as I hold the furs over my chest to cover myself.

He grunts with disapproval, his thick brows narrowed. "I am not a Lord."

Relief floods through me when I understand his words. "Eidard," I amend, hoping to appease him. "Husband."

For a moment his expression softens, and I catch a glimpse of the man who held my hand against his heart last night, but as quickly as it comes it is replaced with a thin grimace. "You will learn to speak our tongue," he proclaims.

"I do not know if I will be able—" I begin to interject, but he silences me with a harsh look.

"You will learn to speak our tongue," he repeats, daring me to interrupt again. "Now dress yourself."

I reach for the thin blue dress I wore yesterday, which is now wrinkled from its night on the floor, but he shakes his head to stop me. "No," he says. "That is no good."

"What am I to wear, then?" I ask, my voice growing brisk. He can order me around all he likes, but that does not change the fact that I only have one dress. Our marriage was rushed and informal, and I had no chance to gather any other clothing. I feel rather like a captive, stolen from my home with no possessions of my own. I must depend on my husband to provide for me now.

He reaches down and grabs a bundle of fabric from the floor, throwing it into my lap. "Dress, and then join me."

He pushes aside the flap of animal hide that covers the entrance, exiting the hut. Left alone for the first time since I learned of my impending marriage to the Chieftain, I exhale heavily, letting my shoulders sag. I allow myself only a moment to recollect my courage. I must be strong.

I examine the garments he's given me. They're clearly some of his own, for they're meant for a man of massive size. I blush at the impropriety of wearing men's clothing, but I know I must learn to forget what was acceptable or unacceptable in my homeland. I am a Viking's woman now.

Growing more confident, I push the fur blankets away from my body and cover myself with Eidard's tunic. The woolen fabric is slightly itchy, and it is so long on me that I could nearly wear it as a dress. I put on the trousers next, and I have to wrap the drawstring around myself six times like a belt to keep it from sliding down my hips. Even so, my feet are swamped in the extra fabric. I fold each pant leg up until they stop at my ankles.

I must look ridiculous, like a jester. Even so, I lift my chin as I exit the hut and step into the chilly morning air. The sun is still low in the pink colored sky, yet it seems every warrior in the village is awake. All around me, men are pulling apart their huts, collapsing the structures into piles of bark and twigs. Confused, I search the crowd for Eidard. I find him a few yards away, holding onto the reins of his black stallion as he lifts a sack of feed to its mouth.

"What's happening?" I ask when I approach him. "Your men… they're destroying their shelters…"

"We must move on," Eidard responds, glancing down at me out of the corner of his eye. "Winter draws nearer. We will cross the sea and rejoin the others to prepare."

His words sink in slowly. I've only just begun to resign myself to this new life, and already we are to travel away? I will have to leave my kingdom. I truly will never see my homeland again.

"Why so soon?" I try to interject. "My lands are rightfully yours. Surely you could make use of them now and—"

"My warriors long for their families," Eidard says stoically. "Our business here is done. I would be a tyrant to keep them away from home even a day longer than necessary."

I close my eyes, trying in vain to contain my emotions. I feel as if the ground has been pulled out from under my feet and I am falling. I should have known my marriage to the Chieftain would mean my departure from Ireland. But I never imagined it would be so soon. I'm completely unprepared.

"Wait," I utter suddenly, opening my eyes.

My husband pulls the sack of feed away from his horse, turning his head to focus all of his attention on me. His green eyes are cool and curious.

"Please," I whisper, my voice meek. "Please reconsider."

He parts his lips to speak, and I can tell he's about to say no to me. Hurriedly, I lay my hand on his large arm, speaking again before he can reject me. "Give me a day. Only one day longer. Please."

I stare at him pleadingly, the weakest I've ever let him see me. I know one day will hardly make a difference, but any short length of time seems better than leaving today. I'm not ready to part with my home; it's all I've ever known. Everything beyond the woodlands that border my kingdom is strange and mysterious and frightening.

"Let me see my father," I beg him, my fingers tightening around his arm. "Let me say goodbye to him."

I've said the wrong thing. Eidard's lips thin and his eyes harden. "I can not allow it."

My hand slips away from his arm. I want to plead with him again, but already I know better than to go against his final word. He is unyielding.

I step back, lowering my gaze to the ground. I can feel tears gathering behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I will not show him any more weakness.

"_Kona_," he mutters, and I look up, recognizing the word he calls me. "Your Irish skies are ever changing. We must make use of the fair weather and travel. Even a day is too much time to be wasted. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I whisper, though the word feels painful leaving my lips.

I watch as he lifts a hand to his collar and undoes the brooch holding his furry mantle in place. He shrugs it off his shoulders and then, to my surprise, cloaks it around mine instead. It's a thick, heavy thing, but I can feel the warmth of his body heat still radiating inside it.

Confused by his unwarranted act of kindness, I let myself look into his eyes. He steps closer, taking my face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs gently across my cheeks. "You've pleased me greatly, _Fagr_," he murmurs, bending his face closer, and for a moment I think he means to kiss me. "I am sorry to deny you." His words are tinged with sincerity. He releases me and steps back again. "Come."

In a daze, I follow after him as we walk through the ruins of what only a short time ago was a little village. Now all remnants of civilization are being packed away onto wooden carts that will be pulled by horses. Eidard searches through one of the carts, producing a chunk of what seems to be some type of meat. It's been dried and sprinkled with bits of leaves. "Eat," he instructs.

The slab he gives me is the size of my head. I watch as he takes his own and rips a large chunk off with his teeth. He's animalistic, like one of the dogs that gnawed on bones under the dining table in the castle.

I examine my own piece thoroughly, trying to pick off as many of the leafy bits as I can. Tentatively, I lift the corner of the meat to my lips, biting at it lightly. It's hard and firm beneath my teeth. But my stomach rumbles with hunger, so I give up on being ladylike and follow Eidard's example, clamping down on it and pulling off a chunk. The texture is awful, but the taste is not horribly unpleasant. I manage to eat five more large bites before my stomach can stand it no longer.

For the rest of the morning, Eidard works with the others. He packs supplies, collapses structures, and passes out food to his men. I try to keep out of his way, standing off to the side as I pull his fur cloak more tightly around my shoulders. I'm tempted to join him and offer my help just to prove that I can be more than an inconvenience to him, but I suspect I will only delay their work if I try.

I only interject when I see Eidard beginning to pull apart his own hunt. "Wait!" I call, running inside and searching frantically through the furs. I find the bejeweled diadem I wore on my wedding night, still lying haphazardly in a corner where it fell from my head last night. I grab it, as well as my blue dress, and quickly exit the hut with them. Eidard stares at me for a moment curiously, then turns his head away with disinterest, going back to his task.

I manage to hide my things in one of the supply carts. I pray that they'll survive the journey, for those few precious items will be all that I have left of my home. I couldn't bear it if I lost them.

When the sun is directly above us, the Vikings' work is done. Eidard shouts out commands to his warriors in Norse, and they respond with proud cries of "_Ja!_"

The men begin to mount their horses. Eidard fetches his black stallion and checks its saddle and reins. Then he turns to me. "Do you ride, _kona_?"

I shake my head. My father always told me it was too dangerous for me to be atop a horse on my own. And my husband's stallion is much larger than the mares we kept in our stables.

Eidard takes hold of my waist, preparing to lift me onto the horse. "One leg on each side," he instructs, supporting my weight as I ease my right foot over the saddle to sit astride it like a man would. Now I understand why he was so adamant that I wear men's clothing rather than my dress. Eidard quickly lifts himself up to sit behind me, taking hold of the reins.

He calls in Norse again to his men, and then he flicks the reins, and we begin to move. I stare ahead of me, trying not to give into temptation and turn around to catch one more glimpse of my homeland. If I do, I may succumb to tears.

My husband's left hand leaves the reins, choosing to rest against my upper thigh instead. "_Holt_," he mutters, lowering his head so his lips are at my ear.

"I don't understand," I remind him quietly.

"_Holt_," he repeats. "Woodlands."

I realize that he means for me to commit the word to memory. "_Holt_," I say, trying to imitate his strong accent.

"_Gjalfrmarr_. Ship."

"Gyalfarmarr."

I feel him shake his head behind me. "No, _minn Fagr_. _Gjalfrmarr_."

I take a deep breath and concentrate. "Gyaflamar."

I try again and again to pronounce the word as he does, but I cannot master it. At last, Eidard takes my chin in his hand and presses his thumb against my jaw. "Again," he orders.

As I speak, he guides my mouth's movements. "_Gjarlfrmarr_."

I smile against his fingers, feeling pride wash over me. But Eidard only lets me bask in my accomplishment for a moment. "_Hus_. House."

"_Hus_," I repeat. And then I think of my home. "Eidard, what is the word for kingdom?"

"There is no such word."

His answer takes me by surprise. "How can that be?" I ask, turning my face to gaze up at him.

His expression is unreadable. "We've no use for such a word. Lands are not meant to be cut into portions and claimed. They are vast and endless."

"That is not how the Irish understand it. We would die for our land."

"The Irish love dirt more than they love people."

I bristle at his insinuation. "You are the one that waged war against my kinsmen for the sake of territory," I snap, feeling my face grow hot. He's a savage _and_ a hypocrite.

My anger seems to amuse him. "Our clan grows, and we require land. What is a man to do when pompous kings in tall castles tell me they have claimed all of the fields and hills and woodlands for themselves?"

I do not know how to respond, so I keep silent, my temper simmering. Eidard pulls on the stallion's reins, and we pick up speed. The air whistling around our faces is too loud for us to speak over.

As time goes on, my thighs begin to ache from the effort of holding myself upright while sitting astride. The soreness left from when we lay together earlier only worsens my pain. But Eidard is a skilled rider, and I do not wish to slow him down with my pathetic complaints.

I feel as though we've been riding through the forest for an eternity. Every tree looks the same, and I cannot imagine how he knows which direction to travel in. Even when night falls, we continue to ride by moonlight. Only when rain begins to trickle down through the foliage does Eidard halt his horse. He shouts out to his men, I assume ordering them to cease and make camp for the night.

Eidard's warriors are skilled in creating shelter. In only moments they manage to build walls from twigs and bark and leaves, leaning them against the trunks of trees to protect them from the rain.

Eidard helps me dismount from the stallion, and my legs almost give out beneath me before I'm able to gain my footing again. He takes my arm and leads me through the trees, moving out of the sight of his men. The ground is slippery and uneven, and he has to aid me so I do not fall.

We finally stop when he spots a cluster of large boulders embedded into a hill, forming a shallow cave. When we enter it, he is pleased to see that the ground is dry, and we are protected from the wind.

Eidard guides me to sit, and he follows my movements, leaning over me and covering my body with his own. "I long for you," he whispers, his voice a breath of air against my skin.

His hands trail over my shoulders and push away the rain-dampened mantle, casting it aside on the ground. Beneath it, my clothes are mostly dry. He finds the drawstrings of my trousers, loosening the knot and pushing them down to my ankles. Every muscle in my body tenses, and my face grows red with embarrassment, but he does not notice.

Because it is so cold, he does not remove my tunic, but bunches the fabric up at my hips instead. "_Minn Fagr_," he murmurs, brushing his hands slowly over my bare thighs, pressing the pads of his fingers against my skin. "_Minn kona_."

I gasp as he suddenly grasps my hips and turns me in a circle, pressing my back against his chest. "Lean your hands against the stones," he orders strictly, but not harshly.

My heart quickens with fear, but I do as he says, leaning my weight against the rocky wall of the cave. I can feel his warm breath against my shoulder as he leans his face down, pressing his nose against my neck.

I cry out as he sinks inside of me. I know he is not being rough, but every movement makes my body ache. I press my lips together and close my eyes tightly, trying to find some small pleasure in the act. Eidard's hands, so much larger than my own, are sprawled over my hips and stomach. His panting breaths are hot against my shoulder, dampening my skin.

"_Minn Vif_," he pants.

He moves swiftly into me again, and another wave of pain courses through me. I hate that I can't see his face. I don't want it to be like this…

"E-Eidard," I stammer, feeling my palms press harder against the stones as his thrusts grow quicker and deeper.

The sound of my voice only seems to fuel his lust. One of his hands trails up my body, skimming over my arms and shoulders, not stopping until he reaches my jawline. He grabs by chin between his fingers and turns my face to the side, his lips descending upon mine in an ardent kiss.

His thrusts begin to grow uneven, and then he is releasing himself into me, his hands holding me close, his lips swallowing my gasps. My mind fills with fog, and sound disappears, and black spots dance before my eyes. I close them and hold my breath, willing myself not to faint.

Every muscle in my body aches. My thighs are sore from the long journey atop Eidard's stallion, and the place between my legs where he took me burns. My weak legs suddenly give out, and I tumble downward, only to be caught in my husband's arms. An icy breeze blows into the cave. I shiver against Eidard's chest and clench my jaw together to keep my teeth from chattering. Eidard reaches behind us and grabs the wolf fur mantle, wrapping it around my body to protect me from the cold, swaddling me like an infant. Then he guides me to lie down with him and tucks me against his chest. He drifts easily into unconsciousness, breathing deeply into my hair.

It is not until I know that he is asleep that I let the first tear fall. I'm cold and hungry, and the weight of his arm around my waist is uncomfortable. My eyelids feel heavy, but I can't imagine how I'll ever manage to sleep tonight. I long to be alone in my chambers, lying on my bed, wrapped in soft quilts. But I mustn't think like that anymore. I must grow used to my husband's presence, or I will never sleep again.

I try to force myself into slumber, but my thighs still throb too painfully. Will it always bring me pain when our bodies meet? I think again of our first night, of how he caressed my skin and breathed sweet words against my lips until I shattered with pleasure in his arms. Why does it no longer feel like that?

It is then that I recall what he told me that night. _I will be yours, and you will be mine, and we will be one. _ Remembering the way his deep voice curled around the words, I try to understand what he meant. Eidard had claimed my body, but I had not claimed his. I close my eyes and think of the way he reacted when I pressed my hand against his cheek that night. Confused, vulnerable… but undeniably wanton.

It is then that I realize what I must do.

I must make Eidard mine.

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><p>Such a brute, isn't he? What happened to the woo-the-wife plan, Eddie?<p>

More next week! Let me know what you think.

I have a new twitter account! Check it out and say hi! I'll be posting teasers. LifeInkognito

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><p>Old Norse Translations:<p>

_Kona_: Wife

_Minn vif_: My woman

_Hitta, Kona. Umskipti_: Come, wife. Change (clothes).

_Fagr_: Beauty

_Ja_: Yeah, Yes

_Holt_: Woodlands

_Gjalfrmarr_: Ship

_Hus_: House

_*_The Norse language does have a loose, infrequently used term for the word "Kingdom." It's "_Riki_."

Also, a historical side-note, Eidard's mantle is made of wolf fur. Wolves used to be really common in Ireland and England. But the townspeople were frequently attacked, so a dog, the Irish Wolfhound, was bred to assist people in tracking down the wolves and killing them. The last one was said to have been killed in 1786.


	3. Part 3

So sorry for the delay. Real life and such. Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it!

Thank you so much to my lovely, fantastic beta! Love you, exquisiteedward!

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><p><strong>The Vikings Woman<strong>

Part 3

The caress of a hand against my temple brings me back to consciousness. I don't remember drifting into sleep, but exhaustion must have won me over during the night. I keep my eyes closed, hating to leave my dreams. Just moments ago, I'd been in such a lovely meadow, and the rain had tasted so sweet against my lips…

"_Kona_." Eidard's voice is low and quiet.

Barely conscious, I turn my face to the side, unwilling to open my eyes. Beneath my fingers the fur mantle is soft and warm. I could easily remain adrift like this forever. Peaceful and content…

"_Vif_," my husband mutters, more sternly this time. "It is time to wake."

No, not now. Not when I've only just slipped into slumber. My limbs feel too heavy to move, and my mind is filled with fog.

Eidard grows impatient with me. "Isabella. Wake, or I will move you myself, I swear it."

Why can't he let me be, for only a few moments longer? I scrunch my eyes together, trying to drift back into merciful oblivion. I want to be lying in a field of flowers again… oh, it's been so long since I've had a pleasant dream…

Something brushes across my cheek… lips, I think, gentle and sweet. They're so warm. I hum with pleasure, sure that I must be sleeping again. Large arms circle my waist, embracing me.

And then suddenly wind is rushing in my ears. Shocked back into consciousness, my eyes snap open. I am being thrown over Eidard's shoulder like a sack.

"Eidard!" I shriek, my hands instinctually fisting his woolen tunic.

He ignores me, turning on his heel and carrying me away from the sanctuary of the little cave. Outside, the sky is still dark, and the stormy rain has lightened into a slight mist. The cold water against my cheeks, as well as the bouncing of Eidard's steps, quickly makes me more alert. "Eidard!" I try again. "Please, Eidard, put me down!"

He pays me no attention. He navigates through the woodlands easily, holding onto me as if I don't weigh a thing, acting as if he can't feel my fists pounding into his back.

"Eidard!" I shout. "Eidard, put me down!"

At last, he pulls me down from over his shoulder and abruptly drops my feet back to the ground. I sway dizzily and nearly fall over.

Multiple laughs sound from behind me. Startled, I turn and see the leering faces of Eidard's warriors. They are all beside their horses, preparing to ride. Feeling my face turn red, I quickly lower my eyes.

"_Letta!_" my husband hisses, and his voice is as low as thunder. "_Hizrla ykkarr augi brott af hanna_." A shiver runs up my spine. The laughs of the Viking men immediately fade into silence.

He grimaces threateningly, his expression hard and stern, and then turns his focus onto his horse. Someone had tied the black stallion to a tree with a rope during the night. Eidard loosens it, then checks and adjusts the saddle and reins. "_Logn_," he whispers, sliding his hand down the length of the horses' nose affectionately. It whinnies happily.

My heart twists in my chest. He's capable of being gentle—I know he is. But it's as if he's two people. A powerful, ruthless Chieftain… a man that terrifies me. And then he's someone else, someone who cares for his horse, who is compassionate towards his people… someone who holds my hand against his heart and says he wants my love…

Eidard's voice startles me out of my errant thoughts. "Lift your leg," he orders, putting his hands around my waist. Pressing my lips together to keep from whimpering, I obey, and he lifts me onto the saddle of the stallion. A moment later, he comes to sit behind me, reaching forward to take the horse's reins.

"_Ver reid!_"

All at once, the horses move forward, and we are traveling again, deeper into the woodlands.

…

"_Bytta_. Bucket."

"_Bytta_," I repeat quietly, feeling my eyelids droop. Oh, I wish I'd been able to sleep longer. I cannot focus—I cannot think.

"_Gjor_. Food."

"_Gjor_."

Behind me, I can feel the rise and fall of Eidard's torso as he breathes. It's so steady, so calm… it's lulling me to sleep. My head slumps forward, my chin touching my chest.

"_Logr_. Water."

"Lo…_ Logr…_"

"_Sut_. Winter."

"Sss…"

And then the world is black, and at last, I am in oblivion again.

…

The stallion jerks suddenly to a stop, and my eyes snap open. The morning light is too bright; I squint my eyes together and groan.

I've fallen against Eidard in my sleep, my cheek pressed against the crook of his arm. Feeling my face heat with a blush, I pull my face away and sit up straight.

Eidard is barking orders in Norse to his men. They pull on the reins of their horses, slowing to a stop as well.

"What's happening?" I mutter, trying to ignore the throbbing in my head.

Eidard touches my chin with his hand, pulling my face to the side so he can see me. "You've slept for a long time. Are you ill?"

My blush deepens as he stares at me probingly, his green eyes boring into mine. "No…" But then my stomach churns, and I reconsider. "Yes…"

His eyebrows narrow. "You need water."

I can't imagine eating or drinking anything at the moment, but I don't interject as Eidard slides off the horse. He reaches out for me and begins to pull me off the saddle as well, but I hiss with pain as my thighs shift.

Eidard scowls, examining my expression. "You're hurt."

I close my eyes, praying he won't be angry with me. I've tried so hard to hide my discomfort. I don't want him to think I'm weak, or a burden. Or that I cannot preform my duties as his wife.

He takes my waist in his hands again and slowly lifts me away from the horse. Pain courses through me, whimpers escaping my mouth. I feel so weak, so vulnerable. Eidard pulls me into his arms and holds me against his chest like a child.

"_Minn kona_," he murmurs, "I've not been attentive to you."

His words take me by surprise. I look up at him, shocked by his sudden tenderness. He gazes back, his usually hard features twisted with sincere regret.

Still carrying me, he begins to walk. My head pounds mercilessly, and I close my eyes.

"There's water nearby," he murmurs to me, pressing me closer to his chest. "The moss… it's thick. We're very close."

My entire body is limp. I feel as if I can't move a muscle—I'm numb. Oh, how I want to sleep…

As we move deeper into the woods, away from Eidard's warriors, the woods grow quieter. I can hear two birds chirping as they fly from tree to tree, and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. And then, in the distance, the babbling of moving water.

I open my eyes. We've approached a wide stream that runs through the forest, curving around the trees and bushes. I press my lips together, realizing for the first time how chapped they've become.

At the edge of the river, Eidard bends over and sets me down on the ground, keeping his arms around me. I sink into the grass and stare up at him with confusion. "What are you—"

My words die in my throat as he reaches for my shirt and pulls on it, lifting it until I'm forced to shift my arms and let him pull it over my head. I quickly wrap my arms around my bare chest, trying to cover myself. "Eidard, I—"

"Shush," he whispers, his hands moving to the drawstrings of my trousers.

No… I can't bear to let him take me again. I don't have the strength. "Please," I beg quietly. "I can't."

I want to push him away from me, to drag my clothes back over my body, but I can hardly lift my back from the ground. Helplessly, I lower my head as he bares me, then removes his own clothes, setting them in a pile beside us.

"I can't," I plead again. "Eidard, please."

"Shush," he repeats, wrapping his arms around me and bringing me back into his embrace.

I close my eyes and hold my breath, waiting for his body to meet with mine. But it does not. Eidard lifts me, and again I am being cradled against his chest.

I open my eyes just as he steps forward and moves into the stream. I gasp and grab onto his shoulders, my heart pounding wildly as the water rises and covers both of us up to our shoulders.

The water is so cold. I shiver in his arms, blinking as the temperature clears away the fog in my mind. And it's so soothing… the fiery pain in my muscles finally lessens.

"Oh," I gasp, both in surprise and relief.

Eidard cups his palms together and gathers water in his hands. When he lifts them to my lips, I drink greedily, letting the cold water soothe my throat.

"I will be better for you," Eidard says suddenly, his voice deep and serious. "I will care for you as a husband should."

My heart beats faster. I cannot understand this man. What does he want from me? What must I do?

My thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of lips against my shoulder. I inhale sharply… his kiss is hot compared to the chilled water. And I'm surprised—my body instinctually loosens, my muscles unraveling.

He moves his lips to my neck. "_Minn kona_…"

"Eidard…" I breathe, my eyes slipping closed. His kiss is so gentle…

His arms tighten around me minutely. "Say that you can love me."

I don't understand. I can't understand him. My mouth feels dry, my throat scratchy. I know he's waiting for an answer, but I can't give him one.

"You will learn to see," he promises me, his words the same as that first night when he held my hand over his heart. "I will win it."

I feel faint. I want to sleep. Why couldn't he let me sleep? My mind begins to grow cloudy again, my thoughts disjointed and nonsensical. The water is so soothing…

"_Tivar_," he whispers, soft as a prayer, "_kenna __hanna ast mik_."

And as my senses dull, I hear his voice beside my ear. "I will be yours, and you will be mine."

…

I wake in Eidard's arms as he lifts me from the river and moves back onto the dry land. Unsteady on my feet, I let him dry me with his tunic and then pull my clothes over my body. The ache in my thighs is blessedly numbed, but my teeth chatter from the cold. Eidard wraps the fur mantle over my shoulders and fastens the broach beneath my chin.

Once again he lifts me against his chest, holding me carefully as he makes his way back to the others. I don't know how long we've been gone—time seems to be too slow and too fast all at once. The afternoon light is dulling, indicating that soon the sun will begin to set.

When we finally reach Eidard's warriors, they've created a blazing fire with a pile of branches and leaves. A circle of men sits around it, passing slabs of dried meat and bottles of mead between them.

Eidard walks towards the fire and sits down between two of his men, arranging me so that I am seated in his lap. The Viking men look at me briefly, then turn their heads quickly in the other direction.

Feeling my face grow hot, I gaze around at the other men, expecting them to be staring at me. But no one meets my eye. They've all turned their faces away, completely ignoring my presence. How strange.

I look up at Eidard. His lips are pressed into a thin line. Has he said something to them? He must have.

"_Mjodr,_" he grunts, and immediately a bottle of mead is passed to him. He lifts it to his lips and takes a long gulp. Then he lowers it to me. "Drink, _kona_."

My tongue moistens as the sight of the beverage. In the castle, I ate and drank quite frequently, and the food was rich and warm. I realize now how much I took for granted. When did I eat last? I feel as if I haven't had a meal in ages.

I lift the bottle to my lips and tilt it back. The liquid is bitter, but it quenches my thirst. I gulp at it greedily.

Eidard quickly puts his hand over mine, forcing me to set down the bottle. "You'll make yourself ill."

I'm well aware of the affects of mead, and the idea of making myself drunk doesn't seem that unappealing. But my senses are dull enough as it is, so I let him pry the bottle from my hand. He quickly passes me another slab of the disgusting dried meat.

My stomach churns at the sight of it. It's so rough and heavy. I don't know if I can bear a single bite. But I'm so hungry. I glance up at Eidard, who's watching me expectantly. "Isn't there something else?" I ask.

His brows narrow. "This is what is to eat."

Sighing, I look back down at the chunk of meat. I'm too famished to cast it aside. Carefully, I lean my head down and bite my teeth into it, tearing off a piece and forcing myself to swallow.

Suddenly, there's a commotion behind us. A voice shouts out thunderously, "_Bjofr!_"

I flinch, dropping the slab of meat in my surprise. Everyone turns their head, eager to see what's happened. Several of the Vikings stand up and hurry towards the scene. I twist in Eidard's arms and gaze over his shoulder, confused.

There are three young men being dragged forward; one Viking is restraining a boy by the neck under each arm, and the third is squirming so vigorously that his capturer seems to be having difficulty holding him. The strangers are dressed in mismatched, loose fitting clothes—commoners, I assess. They can't be any older than eighteen years. And by the looks of their dirty faces and the pine-needles caught in their matted hair, they've been living in the woods for quite some time.

"_Bjofr!_" someone shouts again, spitting the word in the boy's faces.

Eidard lifts me off of his lap like a rag doll and sits me down beside him. Then he stands gracefully, towering above the other men, his lips thinning and his face turning dark.

"What is this?" he speaks, looking down at the young men cruelly.

"_Bjofr,_" one of the Vikings says again, stepping forward and throwing a bundle of items onto the ground. There are at least five furs, and a few other small items as well.

"Thieves," Eidard repeats, speaking directly to the boys. The two being held by the neck are pale, and I can see their bodies quivering with fright. But the third one, the one that was squirming, looks enraged. He bares his teeth menacingly, then opens his mouth and spits at the ground. "Dirteh, damnable Vikin'," he hisses.

"Quiet, Conor!" one of his comrades shouts before the arm around his neck presses down more tightly, eliminating his ability to speak.

But the boy, Conor, does not listen. "Deamon goin' straight ta hell, ye are!" he shouts.

Eidard's face twists with disgust. "Vile Irish dogs."

I clench my fists at his words, even though I know they're not directed at me. Yes, these boys are Irish—they are my people. I cannot sit by silently while they are attacked. "Wait," I whisper, trying to find my voice, but Eidard doesn't hear me.

I look again towards the bundle of items on the ground, enough to feed a family for months if they were sold. But then something catches my eye. A glinting piece of silver, half covered beneath a fur. I gasp, my hands moving to my throat. It's my diadem.

Eidard grasps the hilt of his sword, preparing to lift it from it's sheath. Feeling my heart falter, I find the strength to shakily rise onto my feet. Swallowing down my nervous fear, I say, more clearly, "Eidard."

He turns his head sharply. "Cease!" he warns me sharply, seething.

The threat in his tone makes me flinch back. But I can't stay silent. Thieves or not, they're just young boys. They don't deserve to be slaughtered. "Don't kill them," I beg feebly. "Please, Eidard."

My husband's face turns red with fury, a snarl exposing his teeth. "Cease, woman! _Kyrr!_" I've never heard him shout so loudly. His voice echoes through the woodlands. A group of startled birds flies hastily from a nearby tree.

I blanch, taking a step back.

Eidard turns back to the Irish boys. "It is the law of our clan that thieves are punished with death." And as he speaks, his hand reaches again for the sword scabbard strapped to his waist.

"No!" I scream, before I can think. I hastily throw a hand over my mouth, shocked at my outburst.

Every eye turns to me, the Vikings morbidly curious, and my husband outraged. I take a shallow breath. I cannot stand by helplessly and watch this happen. I am not a pet he can silence when he likes. I am an Irish princess.

"Release my kinsmen," I speak, and my voice is surprisingly strong, despite my fast beating heart. "They're only petty thieves. They are not worth your rage."

But as I speak, Eidard's blazing green eyes bore into mine. Caught in his gaze, I pray that he will show these boys mercy—that he will show _me_ mercy. _Please_, I beg silently, _Please, husband_.

Eidard's expression softens minutely, his fury lessening. For a moment I think he's truly listening to me.

"Take her away," he orders one of his men. "Somewhere where she cannot see."

"No," I start to say, but one of the Vikings has already stepped forward, ready to take hold of me. He's a large, muscular man with a greasy beard and beads of sweat dripping down his temple. I blanch, shuffling backward.

He can't do this; he can't banish me like a disobedient child. "No," I say again, but no one will listen to me. I take another step back and trip over the bottom of my too-long trousers. The Viking manages to catch my shoulder, his grubby fingers digging into my skin. "Eidard!" I cry out, twisting in the man's grip as he begins to pull me away, farther and farther. Desperately I try to meet my husband's eyes. He's watching me, his expression impassive, but I can see a hint of distress in his eyes. "Eidard, please!"

Before he can respond, there is a flash of metal. A dagger. I scream as I watch the blade graze the edge of Eidard's arm. He howls, swiveling on his feet, his hand reaching for his sword and pulling it out of his scabbard so quickly I can hardly follow the movement. And then there is the sickening sound of metal against flesh, and a scream of agony, and so much blood.

The young thief, Conor, falls to the ground, his fist still clutching his dagger, his eyes still opened and drained of life. I turn my face away quickly, feeling my stomach twist with nausea. Bile rises in my throat. I throw a hand over my mouth and swallow it down.

I've never seen a dead man before—it's horrifying. And Eidard… Eidard stole that man's life. That boy, that young boy who was one of my kinsmen. I should have helped him. I should have tried harder to save him…

"_Vif!_" Eidard bellows, suddenly beside me. He reaches for me and grabs me roughly by the arm.

I cringe at his touch. He's a murderer—a killer. I saw him drag a blade through a man's body without a second thought. "No!" I screech, kicking my legs, twisting against his grip. "Let me go! _Let me go!_"

I'm no match for his strength. He pulls my body under his arm like I'm nothing at all. Barking out orders in Norse to his men, he ignores me completely as I fight against his grip.

"Let go of me!" I scream again, but his grip on me only tightens. He carries me to his horse and throws me roughly onto the saddle so swiftly I can not catch my breath. Desperately I try to scramble down, but he's too quick. He lifts himself onto the stallion behind me, capturing my torso and gripping me tightly against him.

"_Bana rekkr!_" he roars, and then he grabs the stallions' reins, and we are soaring through the woodlands.

* * *

><p>Well, that certainly is a step or two back for Eidard. Do you blame him for what he's just done?<p>

Leave a review, let me know what you think!

_Kona_: Wife

_Vif_: Woman

_Letta_: Cease/Stop

_Hizrla ykkarr augi brott af hanna_: Keep your eyes away from her.

_Logn_: Calm

_Ver Reid!_: We Ride!

_Bytta_: Bucket

_Gjor_: Food

_Logr_: Water

_Sut_: Winter

_Minn kona_: My wife

_Tivar_: Gods

_Kenna hanna ast mik_: Teach her to love me

_Mjodr_: Mead

_Bjofr_: Thieves

_Kyrr_: Quiet

_Bana rekkr_: Kill the men


	4. Part 4

I'm horribly sorry I wasn't able to answer everyone's review. I've been having laptop issues all weak, but all is well now. I read every single one of your comments, and I loved them all. Thank you for sharing your thoughts!

This one was quite difficult to write. I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless.

My beta, as ever, is magnificent. I love you, ExquisiteEdward!

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><p><strong>The Viking's Woman<strong>

Part 4

I feel tears burning behind my eyelids, but I refuse to let them fall. I will not be weak. Not in front of this savage. Because, yes, that is what he is. I've tried to find goodness in him, but now I see that his soul is black. He murdered a man, so quickly, so easily… how many men has he slaughtered in his lifetime?

I feel sick. His arm is wound tightly around me, forcing me against his chest as he guides his stallion in a gallop through the woodlands. His heavy, angry breaths are hot against the shell of my ear. I try in vain to twist myself from his grip, but his muscles only flex and tighten, keeping me still.

The sky has darkened slightly, and light mist is falling down upon us. It stings my face as we gallop further from Eidard's warriors, and the bodies that are lying on the ground, and the blood…

Suddenly, he pulls roughly on the horse's reins. The stallion whinnies, jerking its head in protest as it skids its hooves against the mud and struggles to slow its fast pace. Mud splatters against our legs.

I barely have time to react before Eidard throws his other arm around my waist and drags me from the horse. I scream, kicking blindly and pounding my fists, although I know that with all of my strength I couldn't even bruise him.

"Let go of me!" I shriek, scratching my fingernails against his arm, but his tunic is too thick. "_Release me!_"

And then he does. He drops me suddenly, and I tumble, sprawling on the damp ground.

"Savage! Monster!" I howl, lifting myself up. I can feel the cold mud seeping into my clothes.

His smoldering emerald eyes flare with fury at my words. "Cease, woman, if you value your life!"

"You'll kill me?" I spit at him, pushing down the sob caught in the back of my throat. "Like you killed those boys? Without a second of hesitation?"

He takes two menacing steps towards me, encroaching upon me like an animal upon its prey. "Silence, _vif_, or I'll—!"

I scramble backwards, but my back hits the rough bark of a tree, and I have nowhere to go. Somewhere deep within my mind, I know I am cornered, but my tongue has taken on a life of its own. "You've no value for human life, you soulless, despicable, vile _creature!_"

As soon as the word leaves my lips, I know I've gone too far. Eidard howls with rage, his large fingers curling around the hilt of his sword and swiftly unsheathing it. My heart falters—_he means to kill me!_ I cry out and try to scuttle backwards, but my hands slip and I fall back into the mud.

Something bubbles within me, a horror of death, some desperate instinct for life. "No, you cannot!" I plead, but it is too late. I watch helplessly as he swings the sword forward with his all of his strength.

But the blade does not pierce my skin. He aims it a few feet above my head, driving it fiercely into the bark of the tree. The entire trunk trembles from the force of the impact, pieces of bark and wood cascading upon my head.

Eidard pries the blade from the tree, only to raise him arms and swing at it again, deepening the gash in the trunk. When he pulls it out and aims it to swing a third time, a scream escapes my throat. I fall back against the muddy ground, feeling tears leak down my face.

At the sound of my voice, his grip on the sword falters. He's breathing heavily, his entire chest rising and falling with the effort. Slowly, I see the fire in his eyes die, and then he blinks, as if coming out of a daze. His hand lowers, dropping the sword back to his side.

I cannot catch my breath. Gasping and dizzy, I lie meekly in the mud and wait for him to make a move.

"Isabella," he mutters at last, and the sword falls out of his hand and into the mud. He follows after it, dropping down on his knees and bending towards me, arms outstretched.

I jerk away from him and press myself as close as I can to the tree trunk. "Don't touch me!"

He ignores me, grabbing my chin between his fingers and forcing my eyes to meet his. "Isabella," he repeats intensely.

I can't bear to look at him. With as much energy as I possess, I try to pry my chin from his hand, but his strength is unparalleled. I'm forced to gaze at him as he leans even closer.

"Disobedient woman…" he whispers, voice dark and low. His green eyes flash with some unnamed emotion "You forget your place."

"Don't touch me!" I repeat. I don't want to listen to him; I don't ever want to look upon his face again.

"You are _mine!_" he barks, lowering his face so close to mine that our foreheads nearly touch. "You dare not say such things to your husband. You forget, _minn kona_, you share a bed with this _creature_." He exhales heavily, hot breath fanning across my lips.

Those eyes—they're smoldering like embers. My body goes taut as I stare back at him unblinkingly, trapped under his gaze.

Suddenly, his voice grows more ragged. "Tell me these are not your true feelings. You care for me. I felt it… You lay your hand against my heart... I _felt_ it."

I inhale sharply at his words. Is it possible that that moment has haunted him these past few days as much as me? That strange occurrence, after we had consummated our marriage, when he pressed my hand against his chest, above his steady heartbeat, and I had smiled, imagining that I could learn to feel something for him…

He lifts his other hand, reaching for a strand of my hair and tucks it gently behind my ear. For a moment I'm shocked into silence. But then I remember who he is, what he's done…

"Stop it!" I cry out, and at last I am able to pull my chin out of his grip. My heartbeat is so fast and erratic that my chest aches. "I'd rather die a thousand deaths than let you lay another finger on me for as long as I live!"

I've barely finished before Eidard lunges at me, his hands slamming against the tree on either side of my head. Before I can stop myself, I cry out, cringing as I wait for the sting of a slap against my cheek.

His panting breaths wash over my lips. "Look at me." When I do not respond, he curls his hands, still trapping me against the tree, into threatening fists. "_Look at me_."

Hesitantly, I do, and his green eyes make my throat turn dry. I wait for him to say something, but his lips stay pressed together in a thin line, his brows narrowed with anger. His gaze pierces me, holding me in my place, as he searches for something hidden in my expression.

At last, he speaks, and his voice is low and soft. "So be it. I will not force myself upon you."

My shoulders slump at his words, but then a new fear grips me. If he thinks me an unsatisfactory wife, he'll have no use for me. Will he murder me, or leave me here in the woods to die? And will he turn back towards my kingdom and attack?

"But you are my _wife_," he continues firmly. "I desire many things of you, _kona_, but only one thing I require."

I don't understand him. What more could he want from me than a body to warm his bed? I meet his stare impassively, waiting for him to continue.

"Loyalty," he says. "If you are not loyal, then you are worthless to me."

Loyalty? My mind clouds with confusion. "I don't understand…"

"These are your people now," he whispers fervently. "And I am your husband. You will_ never_ doubt my authority again when we are before my men. Am I clear?"

My eyes dart to the sword lying discarded in the mud. If I refuse, he said he'd have no use for me. I have no choice but to agree to whatever he asks of me. "Yes."

"You will learn to speak our tongue," he goes on.

"Yes."

"You will accept our culture."

My tongue feels too dry to speak anymore, so I nod my head in agreement.

His brows furrow, and for a moment it seems like he doesn't believe me. But then he drops his hands back to his side and leans back, letting me move at last.

I slump against the tree, finally able to breathe again. I scarcely know what just happened—it was all so quick—and I do not know if I have any reason to feel safe.

Eidard holds out his hand to me so I can lift myself from the ground, but I do not accept it. I don't trust any act of kindness from him anymore.

His face darkens. "I am sorry that I repulse you so. But you must find a way to tolerate this vile creature."

"You said yourself that you will not force yourself on me," I dare to whisper. "Why don't you let me go home then?"

"I desire your lands," Eidard responds apathetically, not meeting my eyes. "And I intend to keep my claim on them. If you wish to end our union, our agreement will be considered broken, and I will have no choice but to send my forces back into your kingdom. And contrary to your belief, _vif_, I do not find pleasure in the waste of human life. I will not risk the lives of my men in battle for the sake of an unwilling woman."

I feel another tear fall over my cheek. So this is it, then. I must turn my back on my culture, my faith, everything I know and accept these Vikings as my home. I must abandon my people and show loyalty to the enemy in order to save them.

"_Hitta_," Eidard commands, holding out his hand again.

I have no choice. I raise my hand and let him lift me from the ground.

For I am his.

…

We do not speak again. Silent, I sit obediently upon Eidard's stallion, my eyes lowered in defeat. Around us, Eidard's warriors hastily gather their supplies and prepare their horses to continue riding. The bodies of the thieves are nowhere in sight, but I quickly push the thought from my mind.

Eidard's arm is bound with white cloth over the place he was cut. He acts as if he doesn't feel a thing, but I can see the blood seeping into the bandage, and I imagine it must be horribly painful. Nevertheless, he grabs onto the reins of his horse firmly with both hands and prepares to ride forward.

Before he can shout out the orders for his men to ride forward, a man calls out to Eidard, "_Veita ykkarr vif_."

Unconcerned, I do not look up, but then I feel Eidard's eyes upon me. I lift my head, startled to see one the warriors, a massive man with dark, curly hair, standing beside the stallion, holding his arm outstretched to me with a dark red apple in his hand.

I turn my head towards Eidard in confusion. His eyes meet mine for only a moment before he nods his head, and then turns away disinterestedly.

"_Matask_," the curly haired man encourages, extending the apple towards me.

Tentatively, I reach out and take the fruit from him. Despite my nerves, my stomach is growling with hunger. "Thank you," I whisper, hoping that he'll understand me.

The curly haired man smiles.

"_Bua ykkarr hestr_," Eidard barks at the man, and immediately he backs away, turning to join the others.

I turn the fruit around in my hand, wondering why that stranger would show me such unwarranted kindness. I lift the apple to my lips and take a bite. It's crisp and succulent.

"_Ver reid!_" my husband bellows behind me, grabbing hold of the horse's reins and pulling on them. We immediately set off at a brisk pace, Eidard's men following close behind us.

With the wind whistling in my ears, and the mist cold against my skin, I feel farther from my home than ever. But then I remember what Eidard said to me… I must find my home here now.

"_Heitr_," Eidard suddenly mumbles behind me. "Hot."

It takes me only a moment to realize what he wants me to do. "_Heitr_," I reply, trying my best to pronounce it as he does.

"_Iss_. Ice."

"_Iss_."

…

Time blurs together, and soon the sky is dark, and we have only the dim moonlight to see by. My husband calls out to his men to make camp for the night. Everyone dismounts their horses and begins to unload the supply carts.

Eidard hands me a jug of mead, and I drink from it greedily, quenching my thirst. Then he offers me more of that horrible dried meat. I close my eyes and imagine I'm biting into tender beef glazed in mushroom sauce. My stomach doesn't fall for the trick and grumbles in protest, but I still manage to swallow the entire slab. I've learned by now to savor whatever food I'm given, for it's never certain when my next meal will be.

While the Viking warriors use the bark and twigs in the forest to make new shelters for the night, Eidard takes my arm and leads me away from their camp, deeper into the forest.

Once we're out of sight of the men, Eidard grunts, releasing me so that he can cover his forearm with his hand. Beneath his fingers, I can see the now red bandage he wrapped around his cut. Huffing, he unties the fabric and discards it on the forest floor.

"You need to cover it," I whisper, not daring to meet his eyes.

He grunts again. "There is no need for a bandage."

"If it gets dirty the pain will only be worse."

He glances toward me, his eyes nearly black in the dim moonlight. After a moment, he reaches down and grabs his tunic, ripping a piece of fabric from the bottom of it. "Tie it for me," he orders gruffly, holding out the makeshift bandage.

I step closer to him, and he leans down so that I can reach his forearm more easily. For the first time, I truly see how deep the cut is. I turn my face away, feeling bile rise in my throat.

The pain must be horrible, but he's never cried out or moaned. I can't imagine how he's managed to ignore it for so long.

"Quickly," he reminds me.

Gathering my courage, I face him again, trying my best not to grimace as I lift the bandage and tie it around his forearm tightly to stop the bleeding. "There are herbs for pain," I murmur as I work. "Surely you have something in the supply carts that will help—"

"No," he interrupts, his expression hard and unyielding.

I finish securing his bandage and lower my arms back to my side. "I only meant that—"

"_Hitta_," he mutters, grabbing my arm again and pulling me forward. "We need to find shelter before it is too dark to see."

We travel through the woods for a few moments longer, in search of a cave for us to sleep in, but all Eidard can find is a large boulder. He gathers piles of long branches that are lying discarded on the forest floor and lines them up, leaning them against the side of the boulder to make a slanting roof. He throws bunches of leaves on top of it, then motions for me to crawl underneath.

I'm glad there are no storms tonight, because I'm certain our makeshift shelter would not be able to stand the pressure of a downpour, nor would it be waterproof enough to keep us dry. But it does block most of the wind. The space is hardly big enough for the both of us, and I find myself squished against Eidard as he crawls in after me.

Pressed so close to him, I can feel every line of Eidard's body against mine. He looks down at me, a strange expression on his face, barely distinguishable in the darkness. For a moment, I fear that he will reach for me, wanting to lie together once more, as I have become expectant of him to do. But, true to his word that he would not force an unwilling woman, he quickly shifts onto his other side so I can only see his back.

Relieved, I gather my fur mantle around my body and close my eyes. Sleep has never seemed so blessed.

"Isabella," Eidard speaks suddenly, his voice quiet. Startled, my eyes flutter open.

"I did what I had to," he whispers. "I can not show criminal mercy. What would have happened to them if they'd been discovered in your kingdom?"

For as many furs as those boys took, they would most likely have been forced to work in order to repay their debts. Five years of labor in the farmlands to compensate for their crime. But then I remember the diadem... No amount of work could possibly repay such a priceless royal heirloom. Perhaps they didn't understand its true value, but if they'd been found with it, I know what would have happened to them…

"They would have been killed," I murmur hoarsely, closing my eyes again. I don't want to think of this any longer.

Eidard stays silent for a long moment. "Then I hope that perhaps you will learn to see that I am not the monster you believe me to be."

I don't see why anything I think should matter to him. I've consented to be his wife, and my land is now his. He has what he wants from me.

But I know now that those cruel things I said to him today are not true. He's not a creature. But I don't understand him at all. He's so mystifying, and his moods are so changeable.

"Sleep," he tells me. "The woodlands don't extend much further. Tomorrow we will reach the sea."

I squeeze my eyelids together tightly and pray that I will rest peacefully, that I will be able to escape from the horrors I've seen today.

But sleep gives me no mercy. In my dreams, I watch helplessly as the young thief draws his dagger and pierces my husband's arm, and then he falls, slayed by Eidard's sword, drenched in red.

* * *

><p>Are they better off or worse? I honestly can't tell.<p>

Miss the sexin from chapter one?

Follow me on **LifeInkognito** on twitter. I'm still pretty new at it, and I kind of feel like I'm talking to myself, but I like to give updates on the story's progress and a tease here and there.

Also, I've gotten a few questions about the freedom of Viking women during this time period. I tried to answer that in this chapter. I do take creative license with this story, but I've tried to remain true to the spirit of Viking society. Yes, Viking women had more independence than in other cultures (for instance, they could even get divorced), but this was nowhere close to the freedom women have today. Even in Viking society, men were superior and women were expected to submit to their husbands. This is especially true in Isabella's case because she is foreign. She does not have the option of divorcing Eidard because their marriage is the metaphorical treaty that's keeping both sides from going back to war.

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><p>Vif: Woman<p>

Hitta: Come

_Veita ykkarr vif_: For your woman

_Matask_: Eat

_Bua ykkarr hestr_: Prepare your horse

_Ver reid!_: We ride!

_Heitr_: Hot

_Iss_: Ice


	5. Part 5

I'm terribly sorry for the wait. Hopefully you'll still enjoy it.

Thank you so much to all those who read and review. You're amazing!

Thanks to the girls who've stopped by and said hi to me on twitter. You make me feel less socially awkward. Even if I just realized how to respond to tweets.

And thank you so much to my beautiful beta, ExquisiteEdward, who goes above and beyond. She's a saint. Love you!

* * *

><p><strong>The Viking's Woman<strong>

Part 5

The sound of my own scream wakes me. Startled and trembling, I sit up, gasping for breath. I blink, and behind my eyelids I can still see the blood… so much blood.

I press the heel of my palms over my eyes. Over and over again I see it—the blade slicing Eidard's arm, the sword swiftly turning on the boy, the life fading from his eyes as he falls to the ground. And then, suddenly, I see Eidard lying in the boy's place. Eidard, pale and lifeless. Struck by the thief's dagger.

Something touches my shoulder, and I flinch violently. I uncover my eyes and it's Eidard, sitting up beside me, staring at me intensely. "_Kona_," he whispers.

It's all too much—there are too many emotions coursing through me. I burst into tears.

The sobs are so strong, I can barely breathe. I curl into myself and let them wrack through my body. Salty tears warm my skin as they stream down my cheeks.

When Eidard finally speaks, his voice is a murmur. "No." It's not a command, but a plead.

A large hand presses against my cheek. Slowly his thumb brushes away a tear. Feeling his gentleness, his concern for me, only worsens my weeping. How can he show me kindness after the things I said to him yesterday? My mind recounts the words—_Monster—soulless, despicable, vile creature—I'd rather die a thousand deaths than let you lay another finger on me for as long as I live!_

The sound of my own voice shouting those cruel things echoes in my head until I can bear it no longer. "I'm sorry, "I cry out. "I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it, I swear…"

"_Kona_," Eidard whispers.

"I was wrong—I was…" I stutter incoherently through my tears. "I never meant to defy you in front of your men…. Please believe me, I swear it."

For a long time he stays silent. When at last he speaks, I can barely hear him. "I know, Isabella."

"I know why you did it… I knew the penalty for theft. But I just—I—" My voice is shaking violently; for a moment I can't speak. I clear my throat. "I've never seen a man die."

My father did well to protect me from all of that. Confined in the west wing of the castle, I was sheltered from pain and violence. Only now do I realize how much of the world I've been kept ignorant of. I thought I understood death; I'd heard stories and poems and seen the graves behind the church. But I never imagined the pain, the unfairness, the absolute helplessness.

"I can't close my eyes…. I keep seeing him, on the ground, and…"

"I should not have let you seen," Eidard mutters dismally.

I bite on my lip and try to stifle my sobs, but they are too strong for me. Helplessly I slump forward, falling against Eidard's chest. His gathers me into his large arms and pulls me close. It's calming, surprisingly so. Softly he smooths my hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

"Hush, _fagr_," he murmurs. "Forgive me."

I inhale sharply at his words, sure that I've heard wrong; I've learned by now that Eidard seldom gives apologies. "Forgive you?"

His expression is grim. "I said that I would care for you as a husband should, and I've failed you already. But I swear to you, _kona_, I will _never _fail you again."

"You've no need to ask forgiveness," I tell him quietly. "I am the wife of a Chieftain now. I must abide by the laws of the clan."

"I've expected too much of you," he disagrees sharply. "I've much to ask forgiveness for, Isabella. Please say that you will accept it."

I fist Eidard's tunic into my hands, not wanting him to let go. I want to savor this moment, his tenderness, the warmth of his body against my icy skin. "Of course, husband," I whisper.

"_Bondi_," he corrects me, tightening his arms around me. "I swear to you, I will protect you as a_ bondi_ should from all that causes you pain."

His declaration moves me; his voice is so genuine. Emotion chokes me, makes my throat go dry. All I can do is nod and press my cheek against his tunic again.

Silently he holds me, stroking my hair. And at length my tears slow. My mind becomes blissfully numb; the only thing I feel is Eidard's hand moving rhythmically from the back of my head to the end of my back.

"Eidard," I breathe, lifting my chin and gazing up at him.

He lowers his head so he can see me. And whatever I wanted to say flits from my mind. His eyes are nearly black in this dim light, but no less striking. I can see his concern in them, his despair… for me. And suddenly I am overwhelmed with a realization. I don't think I've truly believed it until this moment.

_He cares for me._

Blood races through my veins. I can feel his breath washing over me as he leans downward, slowly, his face inching towards mine.

All I can see is him. Those dark, deep eyes, the sharpness of his jaw, the arc of his bottom lip… Oh, his lips…

"You were repulsed by my touch," Eidard reminds me softly, his face darkening.

"No…" My chin tilts upward; we're almost touching. I inhale sharply and he smells earthy like the forest. "Never. Even that first night…" I lower my eyes as I remember. "I wanted so desperately to hate you, Eidard, to cringe away from you… but I couldn't."

Another inch, and his nose brushes against mine. I can feel my fingers digging into his tunic, pulling him closer, closer still.

"And you are willing now?" he asks.

Heat floods into my cheeks. He already knows the answer. But he's paused, waiting for my response. I muster my courage. "Yes, husband."

And then his mouth touches mine, barely a caress. It's not enough. I lift my arms and wrap them around his shoulders, pulling him to me, pressing my lips against him in a smoldering kiss that leaves me breathless.

Fire swiftly rises inside of me. It's consuming, spellbinding. I need him… I part my lips and sigh when I feel his tongue find mine.

I kiss him until my lungs scream for air. At last, Eidard pulls his face away. I moan in protest, pulling on his shoulders and trying to force him back to me.

"Isabella," Eidard says hoarsely, urging me to look at him.

But I don't want to stop. I want to feel his lips against mine and forget. I want him to drive away my sorrows with his warmth. Grabbing onto his tunic, I pull him back to me.

"Please, _minn bondi_," I murmur.

With a groan, Eidard relents, and his lips crash fervently against mine again. I cling to him earnestly, returning his kisses with hot, open-mouthed fire. All I can feel and hear and taste is him; I'm caught in a tempest, a turmoil. Fever courses through my blood and knots in my stomach.

"Oh, Eidard," I sigh as his mouth moves to my neck. I release my grip on his tunic and lower my hands, stroking his sides, feeling the firm muscles beneath the fabric.

I want him. I'm certain of it. But then I remember what I promised myself if I ever lay with him again. _I must make Eidard mine. _

Impassioned, I lower my hands again. And then lower still.

Eidard's lips pause against my neck as my fingertips hesitantly graze his manhood over the fabric of his breeches. He gasps, a violent shudder running through his body as if seized by lightening.

A blush floods my cheeks; I have no idea what I'm doing. Never in my life have I taken such initiative with a man. But his expression seems to be one of pleasure, so I swallow my embarrassment and stroke my fingers over the length of him again.

A hoarse cry escapes his lips, and then suddenly I am pushed onto my back, lying on the ground with Eidard above me, his mouth trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down from my collarbone and over the tops of my breasts.

My back arches upward on its own accord, desperate for his lips to find the place I want him most. But he's too anxious, his hands skirting over my torso and searching for the drawstrings of my trousers, loosening them. No, not yet. Before he can pull them down, I sit up and lay a hand upon his shoulder.

He flinches at my interruption, looking up at me uncertainly. Vulnerably. With ragged, heavy breaths, he blinks at me, and I can see fear in his eyes. "What is it?" he pants.

"Don't stop," I command, reaching out for him and taking his head between my hands. Eagerly I pull him back to me, guiding him towards my chest.

At last he understands what I want, and he ends my suffering, pressing his lips against the fabric over my breasts, grazing his teeth against the sensitive nipple.

I cry out in bliss and fist my hands into his hair, holding him against me. In all my life, I've never been so wanton. Never so hungry. Never so desperate to touch, to taste, to hold, to have. "_Please_," I beg him.

His hands touch me, stroke me. Slowly. Tongue teasing, fingertips just brushing. He leaves no spot upon me unadorned as he rips the tunic from my body and presses kisses against my bare flesh. He draws spirals upon my belly with his tongue, caresses the soft inner flesh of my thigh. Suckles my breasts, strokes my thigh again...

"My breeches," I whisper softly.

Zealously he catches my ankle and pulls at the breeches. They're so large that they easily fall from my hips and are discarded behind us. My heart pounds in my chest and I wait with anticipation as he grabs my knees and parts my legs.

"Tell me that you want me, Isabella," he suddenly commands.

And I do not hesitate for even a moment. I have no doubt. "I want you," I vow.

I can see his victorious grin. Then he lowers his face once more and his lips tease the inside of my thighs, biting at the soft skin behind my knees, and then higher, trailing until they are just beside my sex. It's torturous, no, heavenly…

His kisses grow bolder, closer to my center, and then suddenly his tongue is sliding against my tender flesh. For a moment I'm shocked, but then a wave of sheer, stunning ecstasy sweeps over me. It's unlike anything I've ever felt before. My body writhes as he explores me, finds the sensitive places and strokes them.

"Oh!" I cry out as I feel my muscles wind tight, and then become taut as stone. The coil in my stomach suddenly unravels, and I am swept away in a surge of pleasure, of bliss. My blood turns to honey, and I can feel my heart pounding wildly. My fingers fist Eidard's hair and hold him against me as I ride out my release.

When he finally pulls away, I am shuddering and limp and utterly exhausted. My heart slows its frantic pace, leaving me winded and panting.

Eidard presses a soft kiss against the inside of my thigh and another on my knee. Then he shifts, pulling my hips closer, laying his weight determinedly between my thighs. His sex is throbbing, and I swallow hard, feeling it against me. Carefully he moves the smooth skin of himself just against the beginning of my entrance. Then he presses farther, father still, filling me with himself.

"Ah!" I cry out as he pulls back, only to come back and fill me again. His movements are slow and sensuous. I reach out, wanting to hold him, wanting to feel the entire length of his body. Willingly he leans down and presses his lips against my jaw.

He holds me achingly tight against him, thrusting more deeply, his rhythm growing slightly faster. I can feel the coil in my stomach begin to form again, winding tighter and tighter. It's never felt like this before.

Every time he touches me, I become more attuned to the feel of him, my body more eager for it, my flesh more traitorously begging to be kissed and caressed. I've tried so desperately to loathe him, but my body has always been against me.

Once again he lifts and lowers himself into me, his breathing growing more ragged. He moves faster still, more and more demanding, more and more a tempest. The wind sweeps me, lightening fills me.

At last I can bear it no longer. My climax sweeps over me, sweet and shattering. A gasp escapes my lips as I shiver and tremble. Above me Eidard groans low, then thrusts so deeply that for a moment I am sure we are one. I cry out as the hot liquid of his body spills into me, searing and sweet.

I cling to him in silence, winded and panting, and lay my head against his tunic. Beneath my cheek I can feel his heart beating steadily. I close my eyes and match my breaths to its rhythm.

"Sleep now, _minn kona_," Eidard speaks quietly, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

Exhaustion is slowly winning me over, but I feel the need to say something, to explain to him my absolute contentedness. "Eidard…"

"Yes, _fagr_?"

But no word I can think of is right. What I feel is indescribable, unnamable. So I lean forward and capture his lips with mine once more, kissing him ardently, with all of the passion I can muster, hoping he will understand.

He does not pull away. Our kiss does not end but rather softens, until we are simply resting against each other. A breeze blows into our shelter, and I shiver as it chills my naked body. I curl more closely against my husband, finding protection in his warmth, his broad arms.

And when I finally drift into sleep, no nightmare wakes me.

…

When I open my eyes, the daylight is bright, streaming upon my face from between the branches that make up our shelter. I don't think I've ever felt so exhausted in my life; my limbs feel like jelly, and I can hardly move them. But it's not altogether unpleasant. In fact, it's exquisite.

I can still feel him, everywhere, from head to toe. I can feel his kisses upon my lips and my breasts and the slow trails his fingers followed across my hips. I never imagined such sensations were possible. But then I blush, remembering my boldness as I reached for him and guided him over my body. If I hadn't been acting so impetuous, I'd never have had the courage. But, oh, I'd do it a thousand times over to relive those feelings.

I lift my head and look down upon myself. My naked body is cloaked in the fur mantle—I suppose Eidard put it around me after I feel asleep to keep me from catching a chill. And Eidard… he's still sleeping beside me. His brow is furrowed, and his lips twisted in agony; in sleep his hand has moved to his right arm, pressing against the cloth covering his wound.

How has he managed to hide his pain so well? His wound is deep—and he hasn't properly cared for it. An injury so grave could surely kill him.

My heart falters, and suddenly I feel panic welling in my stomach. "Eidard," I whisper, reaching out to run my fingers through his copper hair. He groans but doesn't waken. "Eidard," I try again, leaning down and pressing my lips close to his ear.

Then suddenly a hand grabs my waist and drags me downwards. I cry out as I find myself lying supine on the ground, Eidard's groggy but awake eyes staring down at me with ill-concealed amusement.

"_Soemd tivar_," he says quietly. "_Pakka tivar minn vif."_

"I wish I could understand you," I sigh with frustration. I don't see how I'll ever learn. Norse is so unlike Gaelic or Celtic—or any of the languages I've ever heard or studied.

"You will," he assures me, and then he leans down and captures my lips in a smoldering kiss. All thoughts of my studies flee from my mind.

"The sun has risen," he says when he pulls away. "My men await us."

I watch as he sits up and begins to gather my clothes from the ground. My eyes dart to his arm again—only moments ago he'd been in pain, but now it is as if he does not feel it at all.

"Will you not have some herbs?" I ask. "They'll help ease the—"

"_Neinn_," Eidard interrupts me sharply, his good mood suddenly gone.

For a moment I consider fighting him on the topic, but I know it will get me nowhere. He's the most stubborn man I've ever seen. "Fine," I say, pulling my tunic roughly from his hands and putting it back on.

"There is no need for—" he starts to say, but I don't want to hear his lies. I know he's suffering. But for the life of me, I don't understand why he refuses to ease his pain.

"I don't care," I interject, pulling on my breeches as well and tying the drawstring around my waist. "If you wish to become ill and… and die…" My voice breaks, and then trails off quietly.

Eidard is silent, and I can feel his eyes on me. But I turn my face away, not wanting him to see my vulnerability.

"We must go. _Ras, vif_," Eidard finally says, and then crawls out of the shelter, leaving me alone.

I blink at the now empty space beside me. His moods are so fickle. Only moments ago, he was smiling down at me and kissing me, and now he's angry.

Gathering the fur mantle from the ground, I carry it out with me. Eidard is standing a few steps away, gazing out blankly into the woodlands.

I want to apologize for upsetting him, but truthfully I'm not sorry. So I stay silent and wait for him to acknowledge me.

"_Minn kona_," he eventually murmurs, turning towards me. His expression is softer, contrite.

I gaze at him passively. "I'm ready to go."

Briefly I see the corners of his lips lift—in amusement, perhaps—but as quickly as it comes, it is gone. He holds out his hand, motioning for me to hand him the fur mantle in my grip. I do, and once he has it, he unfolds it, then lays it over my shoulders. I try to stay still as his fingers fumble with the broach beneath my chin.

Once he's satisfied that the mantle is properly fastened around me, he turns back to the shelter we spent the night in. It's such a flimsy thing, and I can hardly believe it lasted the night. Eidard lifts his foot and kicks it, toppling the entire structure to the ground in a heap.

"We must hurry," he says, but pauses as he walks back to me. His eyes flash with uncertainty.

"Don't be angry with me," I whisper.

He opens his mouth as if about to say something, but then changes his mind and stays silent. Hesitantly he lifts his arm, looking at me questioningly as he brings his hand to my face. Once he is sure that I am not stopping him, he slowly grazes his knuckles across my cheek. It's an innocent gesture, but it sets my body aflame immediately. I can hardly believe how wanton I've become.

"_Freyja_ took her time with you, Isabella," he says at last. I blink at him, not understanding, but he does not elaborate. "Come now." He holds out his hand.

The walk back to the camp is short and silent. As Eidard said, his men are awake and readying their horses. Someone steps forward and hands Eidard a large slab of dried meat.

"Eat," he says, breaking the chunk down the middle and passing a half to me.

I groan but otherwise do not complain. I'm slowly becoming used to the rough texture. Although it doesn't make me long for my lavish breakfasts in the castle any less.

It doesn't take long for the men to finish repacking the wagons and saddle their horses. Eidard readies his stallion, then helps lift me on top of it. Quickly he sits beside me and takes the reins into his hands.

"_Ver reid!_" he shouts, and we are moving through the wilderness once more.

…

We ride mostly in silence, and briefly I worry that Eidard is still upset with me, but his hand stays sprawled against my hip, his fingers slowly stroking my skin through the fabric of the tunic. Surely he must know the effect he has on me; everywhere he touches, I feel a slow, burning ache for more.

I close my eyes and remember his kisses, his soft, quiet moans. Last night he was not a powerful, unyielding Viking Chieftain. He was gentle and attentive and… mine. I was his, and he was mine, and we were one.

Lulled by my memories and the rhythmic beats of the stallion' hooves, I let myself drift. It's all there is to do to pass the time. I pray that when I wake, I will see the sea—I've seen enough trees to last a lifetime.

What feels like only moments later, I am startled awake by the sound of Eidard's voice. He's barking out orders to his men in a fast, serious tone.

I lift my head away from his chest, and he pauses for a moment, looking down at me curiously. "You've slept for a long time," he remarks.

I blink, looking around me. How can he keep track of time when everything looks the same? The trees are as tall and green as ever, stretching for as far as the eye can see in every direction. But then I see something strange, and I look again; in the distance there's a line of blue along the horizon.

I turn towards Eidard, wanting to ask him if we're close, but he's begun shouting out commands at his men again. For all the words he's tried to teach me, I can't understand any of it.

At last he falls into silence, grabbing the horse's reins once more. "Is that the sea?" I ask him.

"Yes, _minn kona_," he replies, and flicks the reins, urging us onward.

* * *

><p>Yep... at last, after drawing it out for three chapters or so, the sea! What adventures will ensue?<p>

Funny thing... did you see that lemon coming? Cuz I sure didn't when I wrote it. Horny bastards just can't keep their hands off each other.

I post about the story's progress and give the occasional teaser on twitter LifeInkognito

Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading and see you very soon!

* * *

><p><em>Kona<em>: Wife

_Fagr_: Beauty

_Bondi_: Husband

_Soemd tivar_: Bless the gods

_Pakka tivar minn vif_: I thank them for my woman

_Neinn_: No

_Res, vif_: Hurry, woman

Freyja: The Norse Goddess of Love and Beauty

Ver Reid: We Ride!


	6. Part 6

Okay, so I'm about an hour and a half later than I'd hoped, but yay, earlier than usual! I worked hard to make up for the late update last week. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Thank you to my beautiful beta, ExquistiteEdward. I honestly don't know what I'd do without her.

* * *

><p><strong>The Viking's Woman<strong>

Part 6

The sea. It's endless. Wide and vast and it must go on forever. I've never felt smaller, or more ignorant. To think, for so many years my entire world was only as large as the palace walls, and I've been missing this.

The day is fair and cloudless, sunlight shining down upon the white ground and glittering against the calm water. I feel a child-like desire to throw myself from Eidard's stallion and run to the waves, wet my toes. I breathe the air and smile at the smell of salt.

"_Stodva!_" Eidard shouts towards his men. Then he leans towards me. "We'll rest for a while and eat before we sail."

For the first time I notice the two boats anchored at the shoreline. They're nothing like the grand Irish ships I've seen in paintings. These are rather small, at least smaller than I imagined. Slim. Dark wood like they've been carved from the trunk of a tree. Along the sides are brightly painted shields, and the prows are carved into the shapes of large dragon's heads, staring forward menacingly, ready for war.

But it's the men sitting in the ships that startle me most. It's only a small group—I count five in total. One of them turns their head as we approach and lets out a whooping cry. "_Kvedja!_"

Greetings ring out from behind me. The man on the ship suddenly jumps over the side and into the shallow water, wading towards the land. At the same time, one of Eidard's warriors riding just behind us jumps from his horse and barrels forward. I watch with horror as they run towards each other, and the stranger is violently tackled to the ground. I gasp, afraid that they'll kill each other. But then I see that they are laughing, rolling on the ground and wrestling like little boys.

Eidard's hand covers my own, his thumb brushing against my wrist. "Brothers," he informs me. "It has been a long time since my men have seen their families. We all long to be home."

His words affect me more deeply than I'm sure he intended. The closer the Vikings are to home, the farther I am from mine.

As if he knows my thoughts, Eidard's hand finds my chin and tilts my face towards his. "No more sadness," he says softly.

I inhale deeply and gather my strength. "Yes, no more sadness," I say. I do not want to yearn for what can't be mine any longer. My home is with my husband now. With Eidard.

"_Skapa seydir!_" he calls out to his men as he slides lithely from the horse's saddle and onto the ground. Then he reaches for me and grips my waist, helping me down as well.

The ground is hot even through the soles of my shoes. It slips up around my feet, yielding to my weight. For one horrifying moment I fear it will pull my feet under and swallow me; I cry out and grab at Eidard's tunic for support.

I feel his belly bounce as he laughs, a thunderous bass. I lower my chin, embarrassed. The ground is quite firm and stable enough to walk on.

"Sand, _Fagr_," he offers, grinning with amusement. "You have not seen the sea before."

"No," I reply coolly, trying to hide my humiliation. "I… I didn't know what to expect."

"You are safe," he says, laying his hands over mine and gently prying my fingers from his tunic. "Go cool yourself by the water. I must assist my men."

While Eidard and his warriors begin unloading the carts, I walk towards the shoreline, a foamy stretch of blue washing up and down the beach. My shoes keep catching in the sand and clopping uncomfortably against my heel. Finally I can take it no longer, so I bend down and pull the shoes from the feet. When I put my feet back down, the sand sinks between my toes. It's somehow rough and soft all at once.

I walk up to the edge of the water just as a small wave rushes forward. Startled, I step backwards, but the wave is quick and rushes around my feet. It's icy but soothing. Grinning, I fall into the soft sand, letting the cold, foamy water rush up past and then out over my legs, wetting my breeches. The sand shifts and my heels sink down, partially buried.

My father always said keeping me within the castle walls was for my own protection. But protection from what? From this? These past few days as Eidard's wife I've seen more of the world than ever before. I'm learning that life is brutal, but there is also more beauty than I ever imagined. And to think, if I'd been married off to a prince or lord like my father desired, I'd have never even seen this place. I'd never have smelled the salt in the air, or felt the sun shining down upon my face.

"Careful, _fagr_."

I turn in surprise at the sound of Eidard's voice. He's walking towards me. I notice he's taken off his boots as well, and his bare feet are covered in sand. The sight is oddly appealing.

"Careful?" I ask nervously, beginning to sit up.

He holds a hand out, motioning for me to stay as I am. Gracefully he falls to his knees beside me. "_Ran_ might become jealous of your beauty and attempt to pull you away."

"I've not heard of _Ran_ before," I tell him, glancing out over the myriad of blue.

He hums, reaching for one of my hands and holding it between both of his. "The goddess of the sea," he murmurs, his breath hot as he lifts it to press a kiss to my wrist. "_Kona_ of _Egir_." And then his lips curl mischievously. "A very difficult woman."

Something stirs deep in my belly. A longing. I swallow back the strange, wanton feeling. "A maid told me stories of a goddess who drowned sailors in the sea with a net when I was little."

"_Ran_," Eidard confirms. He looks pleased that I know something of his culture, even this minor detail. "Perhaps she will favor you and give us fair passage. The seas are very calm and the wind strong. We sail today."

I look towards the dragon prow ships. They've been pulled up into the sand and Vikings are transferring their supplies from the carts into the bottoms of the boats.

"The ships are very small," I say awkwardly. Truthfully, I'm not sure what the average-sized ship is.

"They are swift," he answers, and then presses his lips to my wrist again. My fingers uncurl like flower petals at his touch. His mouth moves to the center of my palm. "Do you trust me, _minn kona_?"

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to find my bearings. How is it that my body betrays me so at his touch? I want him to take me into his arms again. "Yes," I say quietly.

"Then trust me now," he whispers, and his green eyes darken, his expression sobering. "I do not want this journey to bring you pain."

"How could it—" I begin, but then fall into silence at his grim face. "What are you talking about?"

"The ship is low to the water and sways with each wave. You're unaccustomed to the motions. It will make you ill."

I pale as I look past him and towards the ships. So small for so many men. "How long will we stay aboard?" I ask, feeling suddenly nauseous. Will it be days? Weeks? Crammed into the tiny vessel, bobbing up and down in the middle of the ocean?

Why did he have to tell me? I was happier not to realize what was to come. Now I can feel my heart start to pound with dread.

"I do not know how long," Eidard says softly. "The weather will decide that. Listen to me, Isabella."

I clear my throat and try to pay attention. "I'm listening."

"Will you feel safe if I give you herbs to help you sleep?"

"Help me sleep?" I repeat. Through all of our time on the boat? "But I'll be beside your men. It wouldn't be proper…"

His hand tightens around mine. "I swear, Isabella, I'll watch over you. I'll keep you safe. Do you trust me, _minn kona_?"

I close my eyes and will myself to calm. There's no escaping it—we must travel today. I once heard that Vikings sail the sea more often than they walked upon land. Eidard knows more of the ocean than I; I'd do well to do as he says. "I trust you," I say, at length. "You'll watch over me?"

"Yes, _minn kona_," Eidard vows, and then presses his lips to mine in a soft, tender kiss.

…

The sky is a canvas of pinks and oranges and reds when the ships are finally ready to be drawn out. We've all eaten our fill and now the cooking fire is stomped out. All that is left is to release their horses. I watch with curiosity as Eidard and his men untie their reins and simply let them go. Some of them take off immediately into the woods. Others linger, reluctant to leave their masters. Eidard's stallion still stands firmly beside him. My husband strokes his hand across the horse's nose and pats its head. He leans close and whispers something into the horse's ear. Still it does not move. Then he lifts his hand and hits the stallion swiftly against its behind. The horse whinnies and sprints off into the woodlands, out of sight.

"The horse served me well," Eidard says to me when he walks back. His expression, as usual, is hard and unreadable, but I notice the hint of regret in his eyes.

"What will happen to them?" I ask.

"Someone will find them," he answers. "They are good horses. Saddled. Are you ready, _fagr_?"

"Yes."

Eidard looks towards one of his warriors. He's the dark, curly haired man I met yesterday, the one that offered me the apple. "_Laufslab_."

The curly haired man removes a pouch from his belt. It's a little thing, tied together with string. He hands it to me, and I take it hesitantly. He lifts his hands to his lips and mimics chewing.

"It's safe?" I look hesitantly towards Eidard, waiting for his approval. My hands feel wet and clammy. If I take this, he said I'd sleep. I'd be vulnerable, defenseless.

Eidard sees my hesitation. He nods slightly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Trust me, _minn kona_."

I exhale slowly and look down at the pouch. "Now?"

Eidard looks towards the sky. Already, it's darkening, fading from pink to purple. "Yes, _fagr_."

I carefully untie the string from the top of the pouch and turn it over, letting its contents fall into my palm. It's only a bit of dried leaves. Very unassuming. The curly haired Viking mimics chewing again, swallows heavily, and then smiles at me reassuringly.

My hand shakes. But I've no need to be frightened. Eidard will watch over me. He promised me he would. And I trust him. Truly I do. He won't hurt me.

I press my palm against my lips, and let the leaves fall against my tongue. They're almost tasteless, and ground so thinly that I can hardly feel them in my mouth. I chew anyhow and swallow, washing them down my throat.

Nothing happens immediately. I look towards Eidard. "We'll sail before the sun leaves us," he says.

The curly haired man says something in Norse, and I can't understand any of it. Eidard responds, and then they begin to converse in a heated, fervent conversation. The curly haired man waves his hands widely, shouting, pointing in random directions.

Only after a while do I begin to notice that I feel odd. Eidard's voice sounds even deeper than usual, his words sharp and slow all at once. His hands move as he speaks, but the motions are sluggish, almost delayed.

I look beyond Eidard, towards the woodlands. My woodlands. I'll never see them again. I'll never see my father again. Never, never…

And then yellow spots begin to dance before my eyes, and I feel my legs drop, my body giving out. Warmth catches me. Arms. I'm lifted. Eidard's eyes stare into mine. Green like the woodlands. Green like my home.

"Eidard," I hear myself speak. My voice sounds strange, unlike me.

"Hush now, _kona_," he breathes. "Trust me."

And I do.

…

I drift. In and out of consciousness. Up and down as the sea drags the ship into its current. I feel sick; I feel sleepy. I close my eyes, and when I open them, it is daylight again. I'm sitting in Eidard's lap, and behind us I can hear the rowing of a dozen paddles.

"Hush now, _fagr_," my husband whispers. A hand briefly touches my shoulder.

"I need to—" I try to say, but I cannot finish. I clamp my lips together and thrust myself forward. Cold water spritzes against my face. I open my mouth and retch, again and again, emptying my stomach. My throat burns, my face feels hot. I open my eyes and all I see is blue. Something is holding my arms. It pulls me up and back into the ship.

Eidard looks frightened. "You nearly threw yourself off the side of the ship!"

Someone laughs behind us. Eidard turns his head sharply and hisses a word in Norse.

I can hardly keep my head up. "Are we nearly there?"

But I needn't ask. All around, in every direction, all I see is blue. The blue of the sea, the blue of the sky, and the blue of the horizon.

"Drink," Eidard orders. A bottle is thrust into my sweaty palms. He helps me tilt it back against my lips. The liquid is cool and I'm parched. It soothes my throat and moistens my tongue.

"_Minn fagr_, can you eat?" Eidard says. His thumb brushes over my cheek.

I shake my head. The thought of food alone makes my stomach twist with nausea.

"You should eat," he insists. He lifts a piece of dried meat and sticks it in front of me, under my nose.

Weakly I turn my face away. "I can't. Please, I can't."

He sighs and drops his hands. Moments later he lifts it again, and I see the little, unassuming leaves in his palm.

I don't want them. I feel drained of energy, incapable of controlling my own thoughts. But I dutifully chew when he drops the leaves into my mouth. And swallow heavily.

Another few moments, and I am asleep again, rocking in the waves like a child in a cradle.

…

I blink. The world is a blur of colors. Blues and greens and greys. Arms hold me—Eidard. I can hear the splashing of water, but the boat is no longer swaying.

"No more, _kona_," Eidard promises me. "The worst has passed."

I sigh in relief and let my shoulder drop against his arm.

It feels as if it is only moments later when I hear the sounds of voices. Not of Eidard, or any of his men. These voices are too young. Little boys. I open my eyes, and I can see them, jumping and running excitedly.

I wonder if I'm imagining it, if it's all a strange dream. I tilt my chin upward and see Eidard. I'm being held in his arms.

A little boy tugs at Eidard's breeches. My husband looks toward him and scolds him in Norse. Frightened, the little boy runs off.

My husband. At times he can be cruel. But I know that is not who he is. He's let me see his heart.

Then I hear the barking of dogs. They're loud, too loud, and it hurts my ears. I grumble and try to bury my face against Eidard's chest. I pray for silence and close my eyes.

…

My head feels heavy and pounds like it's been bashed with a rock. Hesitantly I open my eyes. The light is dim. A candle is flickering orange light against a wall…

A wall! I sit up abruptly—too abruptly. I press a hand against my temple and groan. Never again will I ever let Eidard feed me those blasted leaves.

I peer around me with squinting eyes. The walls are wooden, the same color as the wood I remember the Viking ship being constructed of. My skin feels warm and comfortable, heated by a small fire crackling in the middle of the room. There's a fire-pit build into the floor, and someone's recently stoked it and added logs.

I'm lying in a bed, on a soft mattress. Someone's covered me in a thick fur blanket.

"Mmf." A deep groan resonates beside me. I turn my head and to my relief Eidard is beside me.

"Eidard," I murmur, shifting towards him.

His lashes flutter, and then slowly his eyes open. His grins at me sleepily. "_Minn vif_."

I can't help but return his smile. He groggily lifts his arm and moves his hand to stroke his knuckles softly against my cheek. I close my eyes, basking at the warmth that flows through me.

Gentle lips touch my temple. Once, twice. And then his hand moves to my chin, taking it between his fingers and lifting my face so my lips meet his. It's a careful, tender kiss, yet it still makes my fingers curl with longing to touch him, hold him close.

"_Bitr moer_," he whispers.

"Where are we?" I ask, gazing up at him. "I don't remember coming here."

He kisses my cheek, and then my lips again. "You were quite tired, _fagr_. How do you feel?"

I huff and bury my head into the soft mattress. "I feel like a thousand horses have stomped over me."

His hand touches my shoulder. "You need water. And food. You would not eat when I offered."

I remember being ill and vomiting off the side of the boat. My cheeks flush with humiliation. I retched in front of not only Eidard, but all of his men. They must have been disgusted, and thought me very weak for not being able to stand the sea.

"Rest, _kona_," Eidard says, and presses his lips against the back of my neck.

"Where are we?" I ask again, lifting my face from the pillow. "How long did we travel?"

"Only two sunrises," Eidard answers. "The weather was in our favor." He smiles, as if I had something to do with this. "We are home, _minn kona_. Isle Anglesey."

Home. I sit up on my arms and look around me. This room is not like my bedchambers in the castles. The walls are not stone, and there are no fine tapestries hung on the walls. But this room is warm, inviting even. Not at all what I'd imagined a Viking's lair to be.

And Eidard is here with me, and that thought brings me more pleasure than I ever could have imagined. He protected me. He covered me in blankets while I slept and lit a fire for me.

Yes, this can be home.

* * *

><p>Now for the fun stuff. Still with me?<p>

Thank you to all those who read and review. I love hearing your thoughts.

Check twitter at LifeInkognito for updates on the story's status.

* * *

><p><em>Stodva: <em>Stop here.

_Kvedja!_: Hello/Greetings

_Skapa seydir!_: Create a cooking-fire

_Fagr/Minn Fagr_: Beauty/My Beauty

_Kona/Minn Kona_: Wife/ My Wife

_Ran_: Norse Goddess of the Sea, and wife of the Sea God Egir.

_Egir_: Norse God of the Sea

_Laufslab: _Herbs

_Bitr moer: _Brave girl

The herb she takes to knock her out is, well... _partially_ fictional. You know what I mean. There's really very little clues about Viking medicines and remedies.


	7. Part 7

Hello everyone! I tried my hardest to crank this chapter out as fast as I could. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Thank you so much to my fantastic beta, ExquisiteEdward! Every time I see all of the red she sends back to me, I remember how much I need her.

Be patient with the Norse. Bella doesn't understand it either, but you get the benefit of translations at the end of the chapter.

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><p><strong>The Viking's Woman<strong>

Part 7

Eidard's lips follow the curve of my jaw up until he is brushing the shell of my ear. "I have missed your smile, _fagr_."

I close my eyes and sigh as he softly kisses my cheek and then the tip of my nose. How can I possibly deny him when he is so gentle, so sweet? I tilt my chin upwards, and my lips find his.

"_Hniga dyrr!_"

I gasp into Eidard's mouth, shocked at the sudden noise. He grunts with annoyance, lifting himself away from me. "_Esema_," he mutters.

I've never heard him say that word before. I'm about to ask him what it means, but then something loud thumps against the wooden door. I flinch, startled.

"_Bida!_" Eidard shouts, and then rises from the bed, walking towards the door. He looks back at me for a short moment, lips thinned with exasperation, before pulling on the handle.

I'm taken aback—the woman who was the source of such a loud commotion is quite elderly. Her skin is pale and wrinkling, and her light brown hair is streaked with grey. She is small in every sense of the word. Thin and frail, she looks to be half Eidard's size.

She stares at my husband, blue eyes filled with fire, and starts shouting at him in rapid Norse. I've never seen anyone address Eidard in such a scolding manner; even his warriors do not dare confront him. But this slight, slim woman is not afraid. She waves her arms in Eidard's face, speaking so quickly that the only word I can make out is _Irland_.

"_Hljod!_" Eidard replies harshly, but the woman pays him no mind. She pushes past him, turning on me.

"_Risa!_" she shrieks. I recoil, gripping the fur blanket more tightly. There's hatred in her eyes… for me. What have I done wrong to deserve such loathing?

"Esema," Eidard barks, warning clear in his tone, but she ignores him completely.

"Do you not hear?" she hisses at me. "_Risa! _Up!"

I gasp, surprised to hear her speak my language. Questioningly, I look towards Eidard. He's grimacing, but his expression is more irritated than angry. "Esema wishes for you to stand, Isabella," he tells me quietly.

The woman—Esema—lifts her arms instructionally, as if she thinks I'm too daft to understand.

With hesitation, I rise from the bed and stand up straight. Esema's frown does not lessen any. "Look what he brings me," she spits, her accent thick and hard to understand. "A child in man's clothes."

My face heats with a blush. I must look indecent, dressed in Eidard's dirty tunic and breeches.

Esema moves towards me, staring me up and down. "What is your name?"

"Isabella," I reply quickly, my voice breaking.

She stops in front of me, standing uncomfortably close. "Look at her skin," she calls over her shoulder to Eidard. "Pale. Sickly." Before I can react, she roughly grabs my chin between her cold, boney fingers, pulling it down so that we are face to face. "Did your father let you drink mead?" she inquires.

"Yes," I whisper, looking downwards to avoid gazing directly into her icy blue eyes.

"You need more. That'll add some color to your cheeks." She lets go of my chin, only to move both hands to my hips. She presses down on them firmly. "Too small," she says definitively. "She will not birth you many children."

Children? I am so distracted by her words that I do not see her reach up. Abruptly her hand grabs my breast, her palm pressing down against the mound. I cry out and try to step out of her reach, but she ignores me. "No baby inside of her," she says, and then releases me.

I exhale with relief as she walks back towards Eidard. My mind is reeling from her words—_she will not birth you many children_… _no baby inside of her_…. How could she know such things?

"She is no good," Esema declares.

Eidard's face darkens, his eyes narrowing into slits. "She is _minn kona_, Esema."

"Irish filth," she retorts. I cringe at her fervent tone.

"_Hljod!_" Eidard's voice echoes through the room. Both Esema and I step back, shocked by his outburst. "We are wed. It is done. You will not address my wife in such a manner!"

"Wed beneath a foreign God! Your father would take his blade to you—"

"Enough! Leave!"

Enraged, the woman storms towards the door, shouting insults in Norse all the while. She grabs at the door's handle and thrusts it open, but hovers briefly in the archway. "The council has gathered. Your _fodurbrodir_ demands that he sees you… immediately," she mutters ominously. And with that, she slams the door shut behind her.

A loud crash echoes through the cabin as Eidard kicks a table, sending four clay plates tumbling to the floor where they shatter into a thousand pieces. "Insufferable woman!" he hisses, and then turns to me, filled with fury. "She will suffer for saying such things!"

"Eidard," I try to soothe, frightened by his temper.

He ignores me, reaching for his cloak and securing it over his shoulders. Then he grabs his sword and scabbard.

"Where are you going?" I ask, panicked. Does he mean to go after Esema? Despite what that woman said, I couldn't bear it if Eidard hurt her.

"I cannot keep the elders waiting," he answers vaguely. "Stay here and rest. I'll have someone bring a meal for you."

I'm reluctant to let him leave. Eidard and I haven't been separated since our wedding, and I've grown strangely dependent on him. I won't know what to do with myself if he goes. But I can't be so weak that I ask him to stay. Slowly I walk back to the bed and sit down.

Sensing my uncertainty, Eidard's expression softens. "I won't leave you alone for long, _kona._"

"I know," I say quietly, entwining my fingers together nervously in my lap.

"I will come back shortly," he promises, and then opens the door, disappearing behind it.

…

After days of sleeping on the ground, the bed feels like a luxury. Still exhausted and sore, I sink into the mattress and let myself drift. But even in my dreams, that woman's words continue to echo in my mind_. Irish filth_…

It feels as if only moments have passed when a shuffling sound awakens me. I sit up abruptly, my eyes snapping open.

"_Beklager!_" cries the dark haired girl standing in the corner of the room. She looks more startled than I am, her hazel eyes wide and anxious.

I blink at her, unsure of what to do. "Hello," I say, although I'm certain she can't understand my language. "Can I, um… help you?"

"Eh… I…" she fumbles. "I… _Yfirmadr sa_…"

She looks as if she's about to burst into tears. "It's all right," I try to soothe. Then I notice the steaming bowl in her hands. "You came to bring me food?"

"Food!" Her eyes lighten, encouraged. "_Ja!_ Eating. I know, eh… words... little words…"

She already knows more of my language than I do of hers. Smiling, I gesture with my hands for her to place the bowl on the table in the corner of the room. She does so hurriedly, eager to please.

As I walk towards the table, my stomach begins to growl. How many days has it been since I've eaten anything warm? Anything besides that disgusting dried meat? My mouth waters at the sight of the creamy broth.

"I make," the girl says proudly as I sit down and lift the bowl to my lips.

"It's wonderful," I sigh, closing my eyes and savoring the taste on my tongue.

When I open my eyes again, the girl is still standing beside me, staring at me with ill-concealed fascination. Awkwardly I try to ignore her as I take another sip of soup.

"You…" she struggles for the correct word, "ah… _kona_?"

This word I recognize. "Wife," I tell her. "Yes. _Kona_ of Eidard."

At the sound of my husband's name, her face darkens, her eyes flashing with anxiety. "Eidard…" she repeats tentatively, as if she's afraid to even speak the word. "I… you…" Struggling to speak, she closes her eyes and inhales deeply. When she opens them again, the vulnerability in her expression is gone, replaced by grim resolution. "I, uh… Plate break. I clean."

I watch with curiosity as she bends down to pick up the plates Eidard broke earlier. I cannot fathom why she reacted so at the mention of my husband's name. She seemed worried, frightened even. Now I can see her hands trembling slightly as they pick up the sharp shards of clay.

Hoping to divert her from her distress, I ask, "Where did you learn to speak my language?"

"I learn… uh…." She cups a hand around one of her ears.

"Hear?" I supply.

She nods. "I hear. The speaking. _Minn herre snakket mange mal_…"

She learned simply by hearing others speak? Already I feel inadequate. Eidard has been peppering me with Norse words for days, but I haven't retained anything.

I'm raising the bowl of soup to my lips for another sip when, without warning, the door of the cabin thrusts open. "Isabella," Eidard calls.

The girl, still kneeling on the floor by my feet, lets out a panicked gasp. She hunches over, lowering her head. "_Yfirmadr_," she says.

"Ales," Eidard barks at the girl. "Out. _Na_."

Wide eyed and frightened, she stands up quickly, dropping a plate shard in the process. Swiftly she falls back onto her knees, sweeping up the pieces with her hands.

"Out!" Eidard bellows violently.

The girl is so terrified that she drops the shards again, but this time she ignores them, rising to her feet. Without a word, she runs desperately for the door and disappears outside.

I look towards Eidard with a grimace. "Why did you do that?"

He lets out an exasperated huff. "Do what, _minn kona?_"

"You were cruel to that girl."

He seems unconcerned as he removes his cloak and loosens the sword belt from his waist. "Ales never does as she's told."

"She did nothing wrong," I insist. "She was helping me."

Eidard exhales heavily. "You're fond of her?"

Fond? I've only just met her. But she was kind to me, and I can't deny that I've taken a liking to her. "She's a sweet girl," I answer.

"Then she is yours," Eidard says simply. "Now may we speak of other things?"

I blink at him. "What do you mean, _mine_?"

Eidard steps towards me and takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting my face so I am looking directly at him. His lips are curled upward in a wry, amused smile. "If you want Ales, I will give her to you. I never gave you a wedding present, _fagr_."

I'm still reeling from his sudden change of heart concerning Ales when Eidard pulls my face upwards and presses his lips hungrily on mine. Instinctively I clutch his tunic in my hands to balance myself, bringing our bodies closer. Eidard groans into my mouth, wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me completely out of my chair.

"How do you feel?" he asks distractedly as his lips move downward, biting gently at the sensitive skin below my jaw.

"Much better," I gasp, shocked by how quickly my body heats under his touch.

"All the time on the ship," he murmurs against my neck. "I craved you so desperately…"

I crave him too. Ever since that night when he made love to me so tenderly, holding me in his arms, pushing away my nightmares with his kisses… Every time he touches me I remember, and I want it again.

"I'll be gentle," he promises fervently as he carries me towards the bed. "Please, _fagr… _I swear I'll be gentle with you."

"I know," I breathe. I trust him. Deep within me, I know he won't hurt me again.

"_Minn kona_… _minn hjarta_…" His voice is desperate, his hands eager as they trail over my hips and grasp the ends of my tunic. Quickly it is pulled over my head and discarded on the floor.

He kisses me again fiercely, hurriedly, as if he fears he only has so much time. "Eidard," I whisper against his lips, startled by his passion.

"My wife…" He leans down and buries his face against my chest, pressing his mouth against the top of my breast, just above my heart.

There's some strange, hidden emotion behind his eyes. Something anxious. Slowly I run my fingers through his hair, hoping to calm him. "Eidard, what's wrong?"

He lifts himself up onto his forearms so he is hovering above me. "Our marriage is one in truth," he says softly, green eyes gazing down upon my face intensely. "You are _minn kona_."

"Of course I am," I say, but I'm barely able to finish before his lips are on mine once more, ravishing me, consuming me.

He releases me, only to fumble with the drawstrings of my breeches. I can hardly think; my breaths are shallow and quick. How can a single kiss affect me so?

Eidard exhales sharply as the last article of clothing on my body is removed. He stares down at my nude body blatantly, eyes filled with want. "_Freyja_ herself could be no more beautiful."

I flush red at his unwarranted compliment. He brushes a finger against my blushing cheek, grinning. Yet still I can see that strange hint of anxiety in his expression.

"Eidard," I try again, reaching up to hold a hand against his cheek. His eyes flutter closed, his face leaning into my palm. "What is it?"

He ignores my question. "I'm sorry," he says instead. "I said I would be gentle."

"You haven't hurt me," I tell him truthfully. "But you're upset."

"No," he differs, opening his eyes again. One of his hands covers mine, pressing it firmly against his cheek. "No, _fagr_, at this moment I feel only joy."

He bends downs and kisses me again, but this time it is slower, lighter. It's heavenly. A hum of pleasure escapes me, my fingers uncurling and falling limp at my sides. At the same time our lips part, his tongue searching for mine.

I'm lost to the world; I can only think of him. Only feel his hands upon my body, his lips trailing across my shoulder, the weight of his legs tangling with mine. I can feel my hips rising, begging for him to touch me where I want him most. And to my relief, he obeys, brushing his fingers over my belly and downward until he's cupping my sex and delicately parting my folds.

"You want me," he groans against my neck. "Oh, my wife… _minn kona_… my…"

"Yes," I promise him, wantonly pressing myself against his hand. "Yours."

"Mine," he says again, his voice filled with heat, and then he thrusts a finger inside of me, stroking and delving and making me cry out wordlessly.

I can feel my insides curling, the delicious tension building in my belly, but he suddenly draws his hand away before I can find release. "Eidard," I gasp, reaching out to pull him back to me.

But he does not stay away for long. Rid of his breeches, his lowers himself over me again, and now I can feel the pulse of his manhood against my thighs. Once again he kisses me deeply, thrusting his eager, muscled hips towards mine, bringing himself closer to my sex.

He's so close… one firm stroke and he'll be lost inside of me. I grab his back and pull him towards me, silently begging, needing…

At last he enters me, slow and tortuous. Deeper and deeper until I can't tell where he ends and I begin. He is mine, and I am his, and we are _one_. One being, two halves joined at last.

"Eidard…" I can't stop saying his name. It's the only word I can conjure. "Eidard. Oh, Eidard…"

He thrusts again, never quickening his pace, allowing me to feel every stroke, every graze. Everything. And the tension inside of me builds, curls tighter.

"_Minn hjarta_," he whispers close to my ear, andI don't even know what it means, but I can hear the emotion in his voice, the fervor, the adoration. It brings me to the edge, and helplessly I fall, crying out, clutching him to me as tightly as I can as he spills inside of me, his breath warm against my skin.

I cling to his neck, never wanting to let go. I want to stay like this always, warm in his embrace.

His grip on me tightens slightly. "How can you want me, Isabella?"

His question is uncalled for. I lift my head and try to meet his gaze, but he won't look at me. Instead, he focuses on the curve of my collarbone, dragging a finger across the arch.

"Why do you ask that?" I say.

He does not reply immediately. "I've failed you so many times. Over and over…"

"No." I touch my hand to his chin, just as he always does to me, urging him to look at me. Hesitantly he does, eyes filled with a vulnerability he so rarely lets me see. "You have goodness in your heart, Eidard. It was my own pride that prevented me from seeing. You've not failed me."

He looks uncertain, but doesn't argue with me. Instead, he rises and kisses me softly.

"_Minn kona_," he breathes once more, and then lowers his cheek to rest against my chest, above my heart.

* * *

><p>New characters, yay! Esema's not your usual Esme stereotype, is she? And sorry to all you readers who were banking on Bella being preggo... hehe. Not yet.<p>

Thank you to all of those who have read, reviewed, and recc'd this story! You're all fantastic!

I like to tease the upcoming chapters mercilessly on twitter (LifeInkognito)

Happy Mother's Day tomorrow!

* * *

><p><strong>Translations<strong>:

(Minn) Fagr: (My) Beauty

Hniga dyrr!: Open the door!

Bida!: Wait!

Irland: Ireland

Hljod!: Silence!

Risa!: Stand up!

(Minn) Kona: (My) Wife

fodurbrodir: Uncle

Beklager!: Sorry!

Yfirmadr sa…: The chieftain said…

Ja: Yes

Minn herre snakket mange mal: My master speaks many languages

Yfirmadr: Chieftain

Na: Now

Minn hjarta: My heart

Freyja: Goddess of beauty and love


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